


Mægencræft

by mirandaeostre (mirandaskye)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-07
Updated: 2011-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 73,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirandaskye/pseuds/mirandaeostre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life of William of Ealdor, and how he met a sorcerer called Merlin along the way and learned to hate arrogant princes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> There are a number of candidates for a 'historical Arthur' and one of the more pervasive alternatives to conventional Arthurian legend is 'Arthur of the North' - and I ran with that. I've put my Arthur rather firmly in the 5th century, after the end of Roman rule when Britain was under attack from the Saxons, but it's fair to say I've played around with various historical figures, family relationships, geography etc.
> 
> The kingdom of Ebrauc is roughly what is now Yorkshire
> 
> I've generally used the Roman names for towns and cities, e.g.
> 
> Deva: Chester  
> Eboracum: York  
> Danum: Doncaster  
> Lindum: Lincoln  
> Aquae Arnemetiae: Buxton (an alternative site for Mount Badon)
> 
> The river Isara referred to is the river Ouse, and the Celtic goddess Danu, also known as Dôn, gives her name to the river Don (which rises in the Pennines and flows eastwards through Sheffield and Doncaster).

On nights like these, when the wind howls outside like a wounded beast and the rain beats against the windows with all the fury of Hell itself, I think back to my childhood and consider myself fortunate indeed that I now find myself warm and well-fed and behind thick stone walls to keep out the cold that chilled our bones and the creatures that once haunted our nightmares.

I have travelled far in my life; born into poverty I am a wealthy man now, with a daughter married into one of our land's most noble families and a son who sits at the right hand of the king. My path has been a strange one indeed but it has brought me at last to a place of contentment.

My grandson Eldred sits on the floor at my side. A boy of ten summers, he is as fair and well-favoured as his mother and grandmother. My beloved wife, my Alys, passed three winters ago but I have no fears for Eldred; he is hale and strong and already he shows signs of following in his father’s footsteps to become the most fearsome warrior in the service of the King. It is a destiny he will surely fulfil unless he one day exhausts my patience with his incessant questions.

“Why does the bell chime?” he asks now, eyes bright in the combined light of the roaring fire and the candles I am blessed with in my old age. Fine, white candles these, nothing like the guttering, foul-smelling goose fat candles we hoarded and burned so sparingly in my youth.

His ears are keener than mine but I know of what he speaks without needing to hear the muffled chime of the bell in the tower of the new church the king has had built just outside the castle walls. “Evening prayers, boy,” I tell him gruffly. “The bell calls the faithful to prayer.”

He frowns, digesting my words and forming his own conclusions. “I have not heard it before.”

“The king ordered it silenced over Christmas,” I tell him, almost forgetting myself when it comes to the name of the winter festival. In the king’s land it does not do to refer to the old ways. “Only today did he relent.”

Eldred nods, accepting the explanation without wondering why a king should do such a thing. Perhaps to him the ways of kings are simply inexplicable to mere mortals such as us. As fledgling squire to one of the king’s more formidable and imperious knights he is surely already used to obeying apparently inexplicable commands issued by his betters.

“Tell me a story, grandfather,” he says, so sure of my agreement that he is already making himself comfortable against my legs. And, in truth, he has no reason to doubt me; the eldest of my three grandchildren is very much the apple of my eye and I am his to command in such things, as well he knows.

“What story do you wish to hear?”

He frowns at me again, the most serious expression on his face. “Tell me about Arthur, and the knights of Camelot. And Merlin - tell me of Merlin and his magic and the time he…”

“Hush,” I say instinctively; I cannot stop myself casting a nervous glance over my shoulder at the door behind us though I know it is locked.

Eldred’s frown deepens. “Why do you not speak of magic?”

“You know why.” There was a time - not so long ago - when magic was celebrated at the royal court but now no one breathes a word of such arcane matters unless he wishes to find himself in a most disadvantageous situation.

Eldred, ten summers in body, nearer forty in soul, looks at me thoughtfully and smiles disarmingly. “Tell me of Arthur, then,” he says. “Tell me about the time he fought the afanc.”

“Do you fancy your chances against such a beast?” I tease.

“Yes,” he says defiantly, thrusting out his chin. “In a few years,” he adds as an afterthought.

I ruffle his hair affectionately. “Dress yourself for bed, then, and I will tell you a story and then you can sleep and let me have some peace so I can finish what I must do.”

He gets to his feet and peers at the parchment covered in my untidy script. “What are you writing, grandfather?”

He cannot read the language of my youth, something that still gives me pause for thought. He speaks the language of his father, the language I too now speak, if not as easily and fluently as him. In fifty years will there be anyone who can read what I have written here, or will it, like every other relict of an era already passing into myth, be washed away forever in the river of time?

“I am writing about your great-grandfather, and the village where I was born.”

He nods; my words mean nothing to him. I cannot resist adding:

“Where I first met Merlin.”

His eyes light up gratifyingly, enthusiasm restored. “Tell me. Tell me all of it.”

Perhaps it is sinful pride on my part to be so pleased by the admiration and excitement I see in Eldred’s eyes but even the pinched and joyless priest who comes to pray for my heathen sins every other day would probably grant me that small indulgence. I will not tell Eldred all of it, of course. Nor most of it in truth, for he is too young to hear of things I would rather he never needs to know. Those things lie between my heart and the words I write, for this is the true story I must now commit to ink and parchment before it is lost forever with my passing.

The story of King Arthur, of knights and tournaments and a glittering royal castle they called Camelot, and of the sorcerer Merlin, who at Arthur’s side raised Camelot above all other kingdoms and brought peace and unity to the land of Albion, is one I know will endure, even if in time men come to doubt the truth of it - already the tales grow more elaborate and more distorted with every year that passes, though it is little more than twenty years since that glorious age ended.

But there is another story too, and that is the one I must tell while I can. No magic have I but I can see what comes as surely as any seer and I know that my time on this earth nears its end. Soon I shall walk again with my dearest Alys but before I do so I will tell my tale of a prince who would be king, and a boy who would become the greatest sorcerer who ever lived.

And in doing so I will tell my own story too.


	2. Part One

It was the summer my youngest sister died that we heard the first rumours of raiders from the sea, and when those rumours came to Ealdor my father swore and my mother went very pale and she and some of the other women hurried the children away so they would not hear what the messenger of such ill tidings might say. I, being fifteen years old and considering myself very much a grown man, stayed where I was and watched the man who had brought the news and listened to the chatter around me with all the interest of youth, for it had been many years since our little village had even felt the threat from the raiders and I had been too young to know anything about it the last time they had been seen anywhere near Ealdor.

Then, as now, they had come from over the sea, bringing their nimble ships far up the course of the river Isara to raid the villages along its banks, looting for treasure and slaves to take back to their own lands. In later years, of course, they would not return to their own lands at all but in those days they were still few in number and they had no wish to be ambushed by Einion’s warriors riding out from Eboracum. In truth Einion, King of Ebrauc, was not much of a liege lord to us: although his tax collectors were certainly keen to take their due from us we rarely saw his warriors in return.

In his youth my grandfather had once met the great Coel Hen, Einion’s great-grandfather, and he had been fond of telling the tale to a young boy whose head was easily turned with stories of kings and princes. Coel had once ruled the northern provinces for the men of Rome, and Einion perhaps fancied himself a worthy successor – he had once been a great warrior himself, if the stories were to be believed. Whatever glories had been done in the past, Einion had been gravely injured fighting against the armies of Powys some years past and it was said that he now left much of the governing of his kingdom to his son and heir, Eliffer. Although it was also said that Eliffer was more concerned with chasing the girls – unwed or otherwise – of Eboracum than defending his father’s kingdom.

You might think from my telling of it that I knew the intimate details of the royal court but the truth of it was that I had rarely walked or ridden more than a few hours journey from Ealdor, and our small, humble village was a world away from Eboracum, where the people were said to live in villas built by their Roman forebears and walk on roads paved with stone. All my knowledge of our king and his son the prince came from those travellers who passed through the village from time to time, always happy to swap a tale or two for a place to sleep and a good meal.

The pedlar who had brought news of the raiders did not look inclined to stay.

“The raiders are less than a day away,” said Hibbert as soon as the door of the meeting hut closed behind my mother and the other women. He was a tall, morose man, made more miserable in recent months by the fact that his much younger wife had run away with a Dumnonian traveller who had passed through the village the moon before Beltane. “What are we to do?”

“Fight them,” Coll, the blacksmith opined.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ebba said sharply. Ebba was wizened and toothless but his extreme age and foul temper gave him some measure of authority among the menfolk. “None of you are warriors. Half of you are nothing but babes, you don’t remember what they did the last time they came here.”

There was a moment’s respectful silence and then my father spoke.

“Should we send word to the king?”

“He won’t come,” Hibbert said scornfully. “No time for us, that one. Not until it’s time to take our taxes again, anyway.”

“We should try,” my father persisted. “He may send warriors. We cannot fight alone.”

“We cannot fight at all,” Hibbert said tartly.

“How are we to get word to Einion?” Dewar, a genial, broad-faced man who lived in the cottage next to ours, asked before my father could reply, and I was glad of his interruption for although my father was for the most part an even-tempered man, once roused to anger his temper was explosive.

“Someone must ride to Eboracum.” My father looked round the hut but if he saw me in the shadows he did not acknowledge me. “Take the fastest horse and take word to him.”

“Who?” Hibbert asked, and his voice was sour. “It’s two days ride, at least.”

“The rider must be light, and must not stop,” Dewar reasoned, and even as he spoke the idea was already fermenting in my mind and the words rising in my throat.

“I will go.”

I don’t know which of us was more surprised; my father or myself. Yet I knew already that I was the best - indeed the only - choice. Ours was a small village and there was a paucity of young men, and really there was no other who could take on this task. With all the confidence of youth I felt nothing but a frisson of excitement that I would soon see Einion’s court for myself.

“Are you sure?” my father asked me very seriously. “It is a big responsibility.”

“Yes,” I said firmly, and he smiled in a way I knew meant he was proud of me.

“I have a fast horse,” Coll said. He clapped me on the shoulder, so hard he nearly knocked me to the ground. “Ride fast, boy.”

The _boy_ rankled a little but I was too caught up in the excitement to care too much.

“He should wait until the morning before he leaves,” Dewar counselled. “He might fall and break his neck in the dark.”

“Might shut him up for once,” Hibbert muttered darkly. He did not much like me, for he suspected - rightly - that I had helped his wife flee with her lover, but under my father’s glare he now quailed.

“We may not have time to wait,” Coll pointed out. “The raiders move by day or night. Every minute counts if we are to bring warriors here.”

“Then fetch your horse, Coll,” my father said mildly. He turned to me again. “And you, go tell your mother. Better she hears it from you.”

I went, partly because I knew my father had some choice words for Hibbert and partly because I could not wait to be away. Telling my mother was a courtesy, nothing more; I knew that one of the boys who had undoubtedly been listening outside the meeting hut had already scampered away to pass the news on.

Although it was late evening there was still light enough for me to easily find my way and, sure enough, my mother was standing in the doorway of our home, hands on her hips and a frown on her face. “What have you done?” she demanded.

“I’m going to take word to the king,” I said brusquely as I pushed past her. Later, I was not proud of how I behaved that night, for my mother was a good, kind woman and her concern for me was borne out of her mourning for my sister as well as her concern for me. Aille had sickened the morning after Midsummer and died within the day and my mother could have been forgiven for not wanting another of her children to set out on what might be a most dangerous journey.

“One of the others could go?” she persisted as I threw a spare shirt and the knife my father had given me into a pack.

“Who? There’s no one better. Who would you send instead of me?”

She had no answer for that and she watched me finish my packing in silence. I kissed her cheek before I left and for a moment her hands tightened on my arms with something near desperation before she let me go.

By the time I returned to the meeting hut Coll was waiting outside, having brought his horse from its field and saddled it ready. He took my pack from me before pushing me in the direction of the door. “Go on in,” he said. “I don’t think there’s too much arguing now.”

He was right. Whatever argument had been thrashed out in my absence it was settled now, though perhaps not to everyone’s satisfaction. Hibbert was sat in the corner in sullen silence and there were a few other less-than pleased faces in the crowd but no one spoke a word as Ebba greeted me and told me to be on my way.

“Ride as hard as you can,” he told me. “Don’t stop until you reach Eboracum.”

My father shook my hand and then his resolve broke and he hugged me as though I was once again the small boy who had fallen from a tree and lay so still his father thought at first he was dead. “Come back to us,” he whispered in my ear as he pulled away.

“I will,” I promised.

It was cold outside, or perhaps it just seemed so to me at the time. Half the village seemed to have gathered to see me off, and the other half were watching from their windows. I felt more self-conscious at that moment than I ever had before in my life, and I fumbled my first attempt at mounting the horse Coll had provided for me.

“Easy,” he said softly and his quiet confidence calmed me. I managed it the second time around.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” I told my sister Judith, who was standing at the edge of the crowd of onlookers. She was two years my junior and we had always been close; I think I knew already that I would miss her more than anyone. She nodded, and smiled a smile that almost - almost - concealed her tears.

“Go,” Coll said and he brought his hand down so that the horse shot forward so suddenly it was all I could do to cling on as we galloped between the houses. I heard Judith shout something in our wake but I was too preoccupied with simply staying in the saddle to pay attention.

That first, mad gallop took us well clear of the shallow wooded vale that cradled Ealdor and by the time I finally gained control and slowed the horse from its headlong charge we were already on the path that ran along the low ridge overlooking the plain beyond. I did not look back to Ealdor. Ahead of me lay an arduous, dangerous road yet it was one I gladly embarked on that night with all the bravery and foolishness of youth; in my mind’s eye I could already see Einion’s great court and I could not wait to arrive.

I wish now I had taken the time to look back. To have preserved a memory of Ealdor - my home, my kin, my childhood - as it was. Peaceful. Untouched. But I did not know then what was to come and so I did not and that will ever be my regret.

* * *

Even after all these years I am still not much of a horseman. By the time the first hint of dawn’s light touched the night sky I was exhausted and uncomfortable and close to wishing that I had not volunteered myself for this task but it was still with some reluctance that I finally halted.

I had travelled many miles - how many I could not be sure. Ealdor lay far to the south and east and nothing around me looked familiar as I tied my horse’s reins to the nearest tree and sank to the ground to take a much-needed drink from my waterbottle. I could not remain resting for long, but I tended to the horse and forced myself to eat some of the food Coll had packed for me, knowing that I could not continue if I did not feed myself. I was desperately tired; my bones ached so fiercely it seemed I had somehow advanced to Ebba’s age in one night.

The sky was growing rapidly lighter and it was time for me to be on my way. I was serenaded by the chorus of the songbirds as I finally rose to my feet, untied the reins and remounted. My faithful horse put up no complaint to resuming our journey so soon but that could not be said for my traitorous body, which quickly forgot the brief respite it had enjoyed and reminded me all the more that I was not a born horseman.

Ahead of me lay a great forest, which stretched as far as I could see in both directions. It was with some trepidation that I realised that my path led into the heart of it. It was an unpleasant place; the trees were old and grew close together and there was something about them that made me wish I had something more than my humble hunting knife for defence.

I did not have much time for the Gods in my youth but I had grown up with the stories told by the older villagers of the time before the men of Rome had come to our land, when the Gods walked the earth and the very air was filled with their power. I knew too that the Gods had little time for the ways of men, that they played their own games with our lives, and this forest had something about it that spoke of ancient malice. I did not want to enter it, yet it was directly into the forest that my path lay.

The horse seemed as uneasy as I was as we drew closer - though whether that was due to my unease or some innate animal sense of the place I do not know. If there had been any sign, any noise at that moment, I think we would have turned tail and bolted but nothing came; indeed, within the forest there was an almost unnatural stillness. No birdsong, no rustle of leaves in the light summer breeze - it was enough to make the hairs at the back of my neck stand up.

I took a last breath of untainted air and then we were underneath the canopy of trees.

I wished at once to be away; the air was heavy and oppressive and all I could hear over the sound of my own pounding heart and too-rapid breaths was the painfully loud clatter of the horse's hooves on the rocky path. The undergrowth grew tall and thick, so much so that a man might hide himself at the very edge of the path and not be easily seen by a passing rider. Try as I might, I could not rid myself of the vision of some cutthroat lying in wait for me. I fumbled for my knife, clutching at the hilt. It was an inadequate weapon but it was all I had. If I was to be attacked, then I was determined to defend myself.

I was more aware than I would have liked that my knife would be of little use against any unnatural foe.

Ahead of me, I heard a sound and my blood ran cold, for it had been without doubt the chink of metal on metal. Yet at the same time a little of the horror that had filled me receded; no demonic force had made that sound but a man just as me.

And a man could bleed.

I drew my knife from its scabbard.

"Who's there?"

The response to my foolish challenge was not what I expected; out of the corner of my eye I saw something move, off to my left, and the next instant a sharp pain arched through my shoulder. Too late I thought to dig in my heels to urge the horse to a canter; there was a blur of movement and the reins were seized from my nerveless hand. I swung the knife with my uninjured right arm but my stroke was wild and I managed only to tumble myself from the saddle and fall in an undignified, winded heap on the ground.

"Leave him, he's just a boy!" I heard a woman cry.

I looked up indignantly to protest that I was not a child and found myself looking into the eyes of the greatest warlock who ever lived.

I was often asked, in later years, if I knew what he was from the start and, depending on my mood, sometimes I would say yes, of course, and sometimes I would tell the truth - that I saw nothing that summer morning but a pale, skinny, wild-eyed boy standing over me, staring down at me with a gaze of such intensity that I found I could not move.

"Merlin, leave him..." The woman came into view. She was younger than my mother but there was something about her that reminded me of her nonetheless; the same warmth, the same intrinsic goodness that could not be assumed. She leaned over me, eyes warm with concern. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," I said at about the same moment I realised that the boy had my knife. Despite that, for some reason I was no longer afraid. They did not look like bandits and they had already had ample opportunity to kill me if that was their intent. I sat up and rubbed my shoulder. Whichever one of them had thrown the rock at me - and I suspected it had been her - they were an excellent shot.

"We thought you might be..." She stopped abruptly and I wondered what she had been going to say. "We didn't know who you were,” she said instead. She frowned at the boy. "Merlin, give him his knife back."

The boy - Merlin - did so, grudgingly, and then he helped me to my feet and that was how the three of us soon came to be sitting companionably at the side of the path in that accursed forest, sharing the oatcakes that Hunith - for that was her name - produced from her pack.

I watched them covertly as I ate, somewhat intrigued by their appearance, for although their clothes were plain I could not help but notice how pale their skin was, how smooth and unworn their hands. These two had never worked the fields as my family did, day after day in harsh weather and bright sun.

"Where have you come from?" I asked when my curiosity could no longer be contained.

They exchanged a brief, wary glance, which I pretended I had not noticed. "Deva," Hunith replied eventually.

I had no idea where Deva was but I nodded. The answer sounded like a lie to me anyway but I had no idea why they might lie to me.

"Where are you from?" Merlin asked me. At first glance I had thought him much younger than me, for he was very small and slight, but we had already established that in fact we were of an age.

"Ealdor."

“A city?”

“No, just a village.” I took a bite of my oatcake.

"Where is that? Is it far?"

“Merlin,” Hunith chided gently but Merlin’s eagerness was endearing and I answered his question regardless.

"A day's ride from here. But I have not stopped."

Merlin, despite his mother’s warning, was not to be stopped in his quest for knowledge. "Why did you leave?"

"I go to the court of King Einion. Do you always ask so many questions?"

"Yes," he replied with an impish smile and I could not help smiling in return because there was something endearing about Merlin even then that I could not resist. Seeing this, Hunith laughed too and for a while the three of us ate in silent contentment.

"What business takes you to Einion's court?" Hunith asked after a while. "If you do not mind my asking, of course."

"We have had word of raiders to the south of our village." I felt a stab of guilt as I spoke; I had been content to sit here eating when every hour might count. Even now the raiders might be closing on Ealdor. "I must go to Eboracum to pass word to the king."

"There is no need to go to Eboracum," Hunith said quietly. She looked at Merlin again and something passed between them. "The prince, Eliffer, is not half a day's ride from here."

"Eliffer is nearby?" I could not keep the scepticism from my voice. Such a thing did not tally with my own secondhand knowledge of the prince.

"We saw his warriors yesterday," Merlin said. He was watching me, frowning at my disbelief. "A whole band of them."

"Just keep following this path," Hunith added. “There’s a village you will come to … they are camped there.”

I could see no reason for them to lie but it still seemed incredible to me. “But why would Eliffer leave Eboracum? Does he already know about the raiders?”

Merlin looked away, and there was evasion in his tone when he replied. “We did not speak with them.”

I had already decided that they were fugitives. It must be so; it would explain so much about them. I could not imagine what crime they might have committed but what little I did know of the world beyond Ealdor had taught me that sometimes simply being born in the wrong place at the wrong time was crime enough.

“I will go there then,” I said decisively, and I got to my feet. “Thank you, for the food.”

“But not for knocking you from your horse?” Hunith rose too, brushing down her dress. “I am sorry for that.”

“I’m fine now,” I lied, trying to resist the urge to rub my still-aching shoulder. I forced a smile. “But next time, you should aim for the sword arm.”

Hunith gave me a sharp look. “I will try and remember that.”

It was an awkward parting and as I rode away it felt as if there were words left unsaid but somehow, in my heart, I think I already knew that it would not be the last time I saw them.

My time with Hunith and Merlin had been companionable enough but once I was alone again all my misgivings returned. The forest around me was still unnaturally quiet and although I was sure it must be now well into the morning the canopy of trees was so thick that little daylight penetrated to the path. I had no means of knowing how far I had travelled; I could only hope that I would be in time.

I stopped once more that morning, to attend a call of nature, and without the steady beat of hooves on rock the silence of the forest closed around me with suffocating force. I did not tarry. There was something about that place that filled me with particular foreboding and I could not shake the feeling that I was being watched. I finished my business and hurriedly remounted, eager to be on my way.

It was sometime after that halt that I realised that I could see the path before me more clearly; the canopy above me was thinning and I realised that we were reaching the edge of the forest at the same instant that we rounded a slight bend in the path and I saw open countryside ahead. I do not know if it was the mere sight of it after the closeness of the forest or something more sinister that suddenly filled me with a feeling of apprehension such that I had never felt before: I dug my heels sharply into the horse's flanks and we flew forward.

I did not - could not - look back.

We shot out into bright sunlight and all at once the apprehension lifted but I did not rein in until we had put a good distance between us and that hellish forest. I did look back then, and realised to my shame that I was trembling.

What had scared me so? To this day I do not know, although years later Merlin told me that when the men of Rome first came to our lands they had rounded up an entire village, marched them into that forest, and slaughtered them all; men, women and children. I am not superstitious about such things, as a rule, but there was something about that place that sends a shiver down my spine even now.

* * *

“Did you really not know that he was a sorcerer?” Eldred asks, eyes round with wonder.

“What was there to see?” I ask, my voice tinged with a little irritation at the implicit suggestion. “He did no magic before me.”

Eldred considers that for a moment. “So a sorcerer looks no different to other men?”

“No, of course not.” I have heard the lies the priests spout now that magic has gone from the land. There are not many of us left who know better.

“There could still be sorcerers then,” Eldred says insistently. “If no one knew who they were.”

“There are no sorcerers walking among us.”

“How would you know?” he retorts with the implacable logic of a child.

“Because I do.” I pat his shoulder. “And now you should sleep; it is late and I am tired.”

I expect him to argue; the look of quiet pity he gives me is more disquieting. “All right. Will you tell me more of it tomorrow? Please?”

“If I am not too tired. Yes. Tomorrow.”

He nods, satisfied, and settles himself down to sleep, and while he rests I will make use of the quiet and commit my thoughts to ink and parchment while I still may.

* * *

I found Eliffer's camp shortly after noon. After putting a good distance between myself and that accursed forest I had finally halted, allowing the faithful horse to feed and water while I fed myself one of the oatcakes Hunith had insisted I take. I had still been resting when two of Eliffer's men had sprung out at me, swords drawn, demanding to know my business near the prince’s camp. Fortunately for me I had set my knife down to eat, for both of them were ready to kill and any resistance on my part would surely have ended this story before it had even begun. As it was my knife was taken from me and I was marched down the valley to the cottage which their lord, Aedan, had commandeered for his own use.

Told to wait outside, I paced impatiently while they - presumably - regaled their lord with the tale I had told. It gave me an opportunity to look around, however, and what I saw reassured me a little for it was clear that Eliffer had managed to assemble a considerable force, easily enough to challenge any raiders.

The village itself was not much to look at and those villagers I saw looked positively resentful - as well they might. Most of the ordinary warriors were camped on the edges of the village but the lords had found themselves better accommodation in the village, displacing the families already living there and forcing them to find whatever shelter they could in the barns. One house was clearly Eliffer's lodging, for it was heavily guarded and hung about with his insignia, a black stallion on a bright blue banner, but of the prince himself, there was no sign.

I was not left outside for long; soon the men who had ambushed me returned and took me inside. I was not sorry to go inside the cottage, for that summer was a particularly hot and humid one and it had not been pleasant to stand sweating in full sun. The interior of the cottage was dark and cool and as refreshing as a draught of cold spring water.

"So you are the village boy?"

Aedan was, I was to learn later, one of Einion's best warriors and certainly one of the most experienced. Older than my father, he was tall and dark, with a lean, intelligent face and a way of looking at you that suggested he could see to the very depths of your soul. His hand rested near-constantly on the hilt of his sword, as if he expected attack at any moment.

"Yes, my lord." I bowed clumsily. We did not have much time for such airs and graces in Ealdor but I sensed that it was no time for me to show the slightest disrespect. “I come with a mess-"

"There are raiders?" he interrupted. The two men sitting by the fire I had at first taken for scribes looked up with interest.

"Yes, my lord; to the sou-"

"You saw them?"

"A messenger came to-"

He was already turning away. From what I was to hear of him later I do not think Aedan was ever wont to let any man complete a sentence in his presence, save for Einion and Eliffer. He was an impatient man but not, I was sure even from that first meeting, a bad one.

"We must tell the prince that we should ride today. I will speak to him." He nodded to me. "You, eat and rest. You will need to show us the way. Do you have a horse?"

"Yes, my lo-"

"Good." And with that he was gone, and the two men who were not scribes with him. One of the soldiers who had captured me shrugged apologetically and fetched me water along with bread with ham and I made a good meal of it by Aedan's fire pit, wondering all the while why any of them should take the slightest notice of me.

* * *

The first time I set eyes on Eliffer Gosgorddfawr I thought he was one of the Gods come to earth. Which shows, I suppose, that appearances can be deceptive. Or, as my grandfather was wont to say, that all that glitters is not gold.

He was a tall man, Eliffer; taller even than Aedan. As fair as a Saxon, powerfully built and handsome with it, and the knowing of it clear in the way he held himself. I do not suppose he was more than five or six years older than me but as he strode through the massed ranks of his warriors to the horse that had been prepared for him there were no doubts in my mind that this was my future king. I think I could be forgiven for feeling more than a little short of breath when he paused to look directly at me and commend me for my journey.

"Will you fight at my side?" he asked me and as I looked up at him I could not have refused him anything.

"Yes, my lord."

"Too young, your highness," Aedan said brusquely from somewhere behind me. "Not much use in battle."

I opened my mouth to protest but fortunately thought better of it before a single sound could escape, for Eliffer's normally sunny features were twisted in a scowl.

"Don't be such an old woman, Aedan. He can fight if he wishes."

A hand clamped down on my sore shoulder and I found myself propelled in the direction of my own faithful horse. "Let's see if he can guide us, first."

In truth I was not sure why they had need of a guide - the path to Ealdor was easy enough - but I was not minded to protest when it meant that I would not travel alone through that nightmarish forest. This time I would be well-protected.

We departed from the village soon after and I rode with Aedan at the head of the winding column of knights and soldiers. I was near faint with excitement but Aedan did not seem inclined to talk and spoke to me only to confirm the path we should take. Any attempt on my part to make conversation was met with a silent but firm rebuttal and I quickly resigned myself to riding in silence.

We made good time despite the slower pace we were forced to adopt for the men on foot. I felt a shiver of apprehension when I looked upon the forest again but Aedan gave me a strange look and I swallowed my fear. I was determined not to look like a coward in front of him, particularly when I knew that Eliffer rode not far behind us.

"These are dangerous times to be travelling alone," Aedan remarked as we approached the first line of trees.

I was not sure at first if he was speaking to me but since no one else replied I felt I should say something.

"It had to be done, my lord."

That earned me a sharp look. "Yes," he said shortly, and that was the end of our brief conversation. I wondered if I had made a mistake in even answering.

I do not know if the others felt what I had felt when I had first ridden through the forest but I was aware of conversation muting behind me as we passed under the canopy of trees. It was still light but the forest path was heavily shaded and I heard more than one man lose his footing and tumble and I was glad once again that I was mounted. The path was too narrow for us to ride any more than two abreast but with six soldiers in front and Aedan beside me I felt safer than I had on the outward journey.

We did not halt once in the forest even when the last of the muted light faded and darkness closed in around us; only when we were safely out the other side did Aedan call a halt and we camped for the night where I had rested before. I was exhausted by this time - lack of sleep, unfamiliar exertion and lack of food combining to drive my body to its limits. I nearly fell from the horse and I was dimly aware of Aedan speaking to me but his words meant nothing to me. Hands settled under my arms, lifting me to my feet, and I swayed alarmingly.

All around me our camp for the night was being set up but I was too dazed to take it in. I was aware of being guided to a small patch of soft ground, of blankets being laid out for me and then wrapped around me as I lay down, but then my eyes finally closed and after that I knew nothing.

* * *

It was many hours later that I woke. However long I had slept, it was still night. Someone had unfastened my knife from my belt and laid it at my side. I was oddly touched by the care that showed; it made me feel a little less of a foolish child who had fallen asleep. I was warm too, wrapped tightly in blankets.

The camp around me was dark and still but I could make out the silhouettes of the sentries as they patrolled the perimeter. It was reassuring to know that they were there, because beyond them I could still see the ominous darkness of the forest and it was easy to imagine all manner of evil things emanating from that place under cover of night. It occurred to me then that perhaps I should have ensured Hunith and Merlin’s safety – I had been fortunate enough to be able to flee on my horse but they had been travelling on foot and various unpleasant possibilities came too easily to mind.

I angrily dismissed such thoughts; they had already demonstrated themselves to be somewhat less than helpless and I had fulfilled the more important task of taking news of the raiders to Eliffer.

I yawned, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and as I did so I heard an unmistakeable sound in the darkness, and then a quiet, rumbling voice I knew at once as Eliffer's and with it a soft, very feminine squeal. From my left I heard a disapproving grunt that sounded very like Aedan but I had already drawn my own conclusions. I knew that the column had contained more than just warriors - from what little I knew of such matters I already knew that such a thing was not unusual. I knew Eliffer's reputation too, if only by rumour and gossip.

Later, when the sounds had finally ceased, I dared to crawl out of my blankets and investigate the leavings in the pot over the nearest fire. The man tending it looked at me mournfully and spooned out a generous portion of stew, which I devoured ravenously. By the time I had finished dawn was breaking and I realised that I had slept almost an entire night through.

Daylight gave me the opportunity to have my first good look at Eliffer's army; there had been no time when we set out. It was more men than I had ever seen - fifty horsemen and nearly a hundred men on foot, all armed, and then the servants and slaves who tagged along with the army. All told there were nearly three hundred of us camped in that place and it looked mightily impressive to me but when Aedan's second in command Lorin came back from his morning ablutions he muttered bitterly about their lack of numbers.

"There are many warriors," I remarked warily; Lorin was not much taller than me but he carried enough battle scars to make him look like the most fearsome warrior. He was a Silurian, I learned, and although he never spoke of why he had left his homeland I guessed he preferred the life of a warrior under the command of a man like Aedan than whatever summary justice had awaited him in Siluria.

Lorin spat on the ground. "Whores and beggars, boy. No use in battle."

"We'll outnumber the raiders, surely?"

He gave me a look. "Not you. Aedan says you're too young to fight."

"I want to fight," I said stubbornly, with all the bravado of youth.

"Then you're a fool," he said simply, and walked away.

Eliffer rose long after everyone else had eaten breakfast and immediately disappeared in the direction of a nearby stream, with the skinny slave girl he had taken to his bed following on behind. Lorin spat again once the prince was safely out of hearing distance, and muttered something obscene.

"He's very handsome," I said defensively, which made Lorin chortle.

"Useless in a shield wall, prince or not." He tapped the side of my head. "Eliffer might be pretty but that means nothing when a Saxon axe is aimed at your face, boy." He nodded towards Aedan, who was supervising the loading of the pack horses. "If you do fight with us, stick with him and you might survive."

"I'll remember that," I told him, and Lorin grinned a toothless grin and punched my shoulder in almost exactly the same spot Hunith's rock had hit. Lorin only laughed at my curse and told me to go and saddle my horse.

“Tonight, boy, we may rest in your village.”

The thought of seeing my family again pleased me, but a small part of me hoped that I would not be forced to remain in Ealdor. I wanted nothing more than to ride to battle under Eliffer’s command, to the honour and glory I was sure awaited me there.

* * *

I had made the outward journey in frantic haste but my return to Ealdor was by necessity a more measured affair. Lorin told me later that the journey to Eboracum could be made in less than a day if a horseman followed the most direct route but only a fool would do so; the path was treacherous and at that time the land was plagued with roaming bands of rogues who would not shy from taking advantage of a lone traveller. Such men would not dare to attack Eliffer's warriors, of course, but nature could not be overcome so easily.

"We let things fall to ruin," Lorin confided as we set up camp again that night. I knew we were not far from Ealdor but Eliffer had decreed that we would not march in darkness and so we had halted in a dank, inhospitable vale. "All gone to ruin and that is why we must crawl across the land."

"What do you mean?" I asked curiously.

Lorin paused in the giving of orders to Aedan's servants and gave me one of his looks. "I mean that in a few generations we have lost what we should have kept." When I continued to look confused he sighed. "You have not been to Eboracum, have you?"

"No."

"We live in the villas built by the men of Rome." Lorin paused to spit upon the ground, in the way he had that might have been casual but more likely expressed disgust with someone or another. "Einion lives in the palace of Coel Hen, yet not one of his men - not the brightest man in all his court - knows how to rebuild the archways when they crumble. Not as they should be. It's the same with the roads."

I was on firmer ground here; I had seen a Roman road once. "The ones built with stone?"

"Yes." Lorin jerked my arm impatiently, indicating that I should unpack my own bedroll for the night. "We don’t even think to build them but they had it right. Firm underfoot and well-drained - once upon a time they could march from one end of our kingdom to another in a night and a day but look at us now.”

“These men look very fine,” I ventured, wary of his sudden vehemence.

“It takes more then looks to fight, boy,” Lorin sneered. “Einion could crush every hint of revolt in his kingdom if he so wished but he sits in his villa and allows the knights to get away with whatever they wish and the roads to crumble so we must creep and crawl and the raiders are gone long before we can get our warriors there."

"The raiders never stay," I said with all the confidence of one who had never seen them. "They flee before they do much damage."

Lorin's mouth twisted in amusement. "It is the turning of the year that saves us, boy. They have to return home to bring in their harvest." He spat again, this time clearly to express his contempt for the raiders. "But one day, boy, they won't go back. They'll come here and they'll settle and then we're finished."

"We can fight them." I was kneeling to roll out my bedroll but I looked up at him in alarm. "Can't we?"

Lorin looked away from me, down the valley to where Eliffer was holding court to his most trusted warriors. "If it comes to that, let's hope we have a king for the job."

I had no doubts in my mind as I watched Eliffer, tall and proud, laughing with his men. I would have gladly died for him. Perhaps Lorin saw my expression for he snorted and told me brusquely to hurry myself.

“Don’t put your trust in him, boy,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

The prospect of another night sleeping under the stars did not do much to improve Aedan's temper. Over dinner Lorin whispered to me that Aedan had been wounded in Einion's service, long ago, and that the wound was apt to give him pain if he slept on the cold ground. Aedan himself spoke not a word of his old injury and I did not dare mention it. To me there was little hardship in spending another night next to Aedan's campfire, wrapped up snugly in thick blankets; I was young and the nights were still mild.

Lorin laughed when I told him that, later. Aedan had gone to inspect the sentries; I knew enough of the man by now to learn that he did not trust anything to be done as he wished it unless he personally had seen it done.

“It’s his way,” Lorin said with a shrug when he saw me watching the knight talking to the first set of sentries. He did not seem resentful of it. “And you’ll learn the blessings of a warm bed, boy. Time waits for no man. The gods know our measure.”

He touched the pendant he wore as he spoke. I had noted it before without paying much attention to it but Lorin saw my interest and turned the pendant to show me what was inscribed upon it. It was a simple thing; a small pewter disc hung on a leather cord. I could not make out the design.

“What is it?”

Lorin tapped the pendant again. “Camulos.”

I had not heard of him so I hazarded a guess at what measure of deity a soldier might wish to pray to. “A god of war?”

Lorin smiled a secretive smile. “Not quite,” he replied cryptically.

“What then?”

His smile deepened. “The champion.”

I puzzled over that for a while but Lorin did not seem willing to expand on his words and I in turn was not willing to push too much. I looked over at Aedan instead and turned my attention to another matter that interested me.

“How long have you served him?”

Lorin did not answer at first and when he did his voice was more measured than I had heard it to date.

“A lifetime.” He must have seen my expression for he smiled and went on. “ _Your_ lifetime, at least.”

“He is a good warrior then?”

“The best,” Lorin said emphatically. “A true leader of men.” Tucking the pendant inside his shirt, he rose to his feet. “And now you should sleep. Tomorrow will see you back in your village.”

It was with some uneasiness that I settled myself down to sleep that night. Lorin's words about the raiders haunted my thoughts. Previously it had reassured me that Ealdor lay far upriver; I knew the raiders preferred the easy pickings of the villages along the banks of the estuary. I could not help thinking, though, that one day they might not be content with that. That they might bring their ships upriver. I stared up at the stars until the fires burned low and when I finally slept I dreamed of fire and blood and death.

* * *

I woke to a chill in the air and blankets wet with the heavy dew that had settled over the camp while we slept. Shivering, I pushed the sodden blankets aside and made my way to the fire, grateful for the cup Lorin wordlessly pushed into my half-frozen hands. Whatever it contained was hot and warmed me to my toes and I settled myself down on the driest patch of earth I could find and watched the camp come to life around me, while trying not to stare at Aedan, who was sat opposite me, fastidiously cleaning his sword. I do not think I concealed my interest very well; he saw me watching and scowled.

"What?"

If I had been brought up in what my mother was wont to call proper society I would probably not have answered him honestly but I had not and so my tongue was not guarded by pretty manners. "Why do you clean your sword yourself? My lord." The last was added hastily. "You have-"

"A warrior must trust his weapons," he cut me off abruptly. "His life may depend on them."

"You don't trust your servants? My lo-"

"I trust them not to stab me in my sleep. Unlike some." Aedan winked at Lorin, a shared joke I was not privy to. "Sleep well, boy?"

"Yes," I lied and he grunted his approval and went back to cleaning his sword.

It did not occur to me at the time that there was anything unusual in Aedan's interest in me, although perhaps it should have done. I, after all, was a peasant boy, with no land or money or title; he was a great lord, and a confidante of the king. It was only later that I realised what some of the whispers I had heard around the camp meant, and by then it meant nothing anyway. Not that Aedan himself gave me any sign; he treated me with strict propriety and maintained a careful distance between us. His men were fiercely loyal to him too and I never heard a whisper from them. Only, I realised later, from Eliffer's men.

Such politics were far from my mind as we set off again that morning. I was riding alongside Lorin today, Aedan having fallen back to speak with Eliffer, and with his earlier mood lifted Lorin was minded to tell me the kind of tales I longed to hear; battles fought, victories won, enemies defeated. He had fought at Aedan’s side for years, fighting the wild men in the far north, and he had many tales to tell. With the wisdom of years I realise that Lorin spared me much of the horror of battle that day but at the time I was too enthralled to notice. By the time we rode that last open stretch to my village I was determined to volunteer myself for Eliffer's army, to fight at his side. Glory and riches surely awaited me - Lorin had downplayed such things but there was enough suggestion of plunder in his words to fire my blood.

We crested the final ridge and suddenly Ealdor lay before us, as ordered and tranquil as it ever had been but with my newly opened eyes it suddenly seemed so very small and staid. As we rode down into the vale a child tending to the pigs gave the alarm at our approach and within minutes the entire village had spilled out of their houses to see us. I saw my father's face in the crowd, his broad smile as he caught sight of me. Coll was standing next to him, beaming, no doubt pleased that I had brought his horse back safely.

Aedan gave a sharp order and the main body of men halted. They would camp here, on the edge of the village. A small party - Aedan, Lorin, Eliffer, two of his knights and myself, rode forward.

"Who is in charge here?" Eliffer demanded.

I could see the men looking at each other. Technically Ealdor had a lord - Simony - but he rarely stirred himself from his manor house to the west and we were used to governing ourselves, by argument if nothing else. Ebba stepped forward eventually, just when the silence was beginning to get embarrassing. "I suppose I am, my lord," he said with grudging deference.

"I am Eliffer Gosgorddfawr," Eliffer said imperiously, and a murmur of excitement went round the crowd of onlookers at that. "I am here to defend you from the raiders."

"The gods help us all," Lorin muttered behind me. I pretended I had not heard.

"We will need lodgings here tonight," Eliffer continued. "Food for my men. Wood for our fires."

"There's the meeting hut," Ebba said. "Would that do, my lord?"

"It will do." Eliffer turned in his saddle to look at Aedan. "We will rest here tonight."

"Yes, my lord." Aedan motioned to Lorin and then looked over at me. "Well, don't you want to greet your family?"

I realised, with a flash of guilt, that they were waiting for me. I nodded and half-scrambled, half-tumbled from the saddle, my fall arrested by my father's arms tight around me.

"You did it," he hissed in my ear as he hugged me. "You have saved us all."

My mother embraced me then, and my sisters were quick to follow, and then there were others there too, shaking my hand, kissing my cheek. Even Hibbert shook my hand, though he did not look me in the eye. I was the hero of Ealdor and that night, for the first time in my life, I sat in the circle of the menfolk, drank my fill of ale and felt myself to be very much a man.

Ebba told me once that pride goes before a fall and, although I did not know it that night, I was to fall a very long way indeed.

* * *

“And what does that say?” Godric asks with a frown, finger hovering over a word he does not recognise. He has been looking over my ever-lengthening manuscript since noon, slowly puzzling his way through the unfamiliar words and pestering me mercilessly for a translation of those words he cannot decipher himself.

Godric is, in no particular order, my son-in-law, Eldred’s father, the lord of this place, a good man, and my friend. If he lacked but one of those attributes I would have banished him from my quarters a long time ago but as it is I am happy to set my quill aside for a moment to explain the meaning of the word that has him flummoxed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand this language of yours,” he says ruefully as he sets the parchment aside.

“Of course not.” I wait a heartbeat, picking the moment. “It lacks a hundred words to insult one’s enemy on the battlefield, as your _elegant_ language does.”

He laughs; this is an old joke between us and not one I would ever make before the men who serve him. No, it is best that they forget entirely that I am not one of them; I have lived among them long enough for it to pass unremarked for the most part.

“This pendant,” he says thoughtfully, when the laughter has subsided. “This _Camulos_ … what do you mean by it?”

“Camulos was the god of the gladiators.” I am safe speaking of such things to Godric but out of habit I still lower my voice. “The champion.”

“So Lorin was a gladiator?” Godric frowned again. “Was he a slave then?”

“Once, perhaps. I never asked.”

“Curiosity is something you gained in your advancing years?”

“If I was twenty years younger…” I try and fail to school my features into a menacing glare but he only laughs.

“You would beat me, I’m sure.”

He is being kind, and we both know it. I have never been a warrior and he has been trained to it since birth. Even if I were still in my youth he could finish me off without raising a sweat.

“You were a most innocent boy,” he teases, by way of distraction. “Not to see Aedan’s interest in you.”

“Why would I have seen it? He was always proper with me.”

Godric regards me thoughtfully. “And if he had not been? Would you have fought him?”

I force a laugh to cover my discomfort – Godric is as close to a son as my own flesh and blood and discussing such matters with him is hardly easy for me.

“Eliffer took a girl to his bed,” he persists. “Would you have gone, if Aedan had asked you to his bed?”

“But he did not.” In my mind’s eye I can still see Aedan sat still and silent by the fire, watching me. “And that is something else that set him aside from the prince.”

Godric nods in silent understanding, then:

“I would hear more of Eliffer.”

“And you will,” I reply, relieved to be free of a vexing subject. “There is much more to tell. Fetch me some of that excellent wine you think I know nothing of and I’ll tell you the tale of the prince of Ebrauc.”

* * *

"He is handsome, isn't he?" Judith said with a touch of wonder in her voice as we walked together the next day and, knowing she spoke of Eliffer, I could not disagree.

I had gone from budding warrior to farmer in the space of a few hours; when I had finally risen from my bed, still groggy from the ale I had drunk, my father had muttered a few uncharitable words about wayward sons before pushing me unceremoniously out of the door. There were weeds to be pulled in our fields, and then a fence to repair and then some thatching to be done for Ebba, and my only consolation was Judith's company for the first of those tasks.

Of course she was eager to hear more about the prince and as we walked the first row of peas she was quick to aim her questions in my directions.

"You travelled with him." She gave me a searching glance. "What kind of man is he?"

"He's going to be the king." If I craned my neck I could see Eliffer training with some of his knights in the field that ran down to the river.

"I know that." She reached over and prodded me impatiently. "That wasn't what I asked."

"He's a great man," I told her and, at that moment, I honestly believed it. Judith nodded.

"Does he have a wife?"

"Not as far as I know." I, of course, had not even thought to ask the question but Judith was always more inquisitive about such things than me. "Why, do you fancy being his queen?"

She laughed at that. "Don't be stupid. A prince would have to marry a lady of noble blood."

"Not like you then."

That earned me a slap to my arm, hard enough to remind me that my shoulder was still a little tender. "No, not like me."

Grinning, I shaded my eyes from the morning sun and looked over to the training field again. Aedan was down there too but he and every other man seemed to fade into the background when compared to the shining star that was Eliffer.

"You look like you wouldn't mind sharing his bed yourself," Judith said archly.

"Don't be stupid," I snapped, flushing.

Judith opened her mouth to go on and then seemed to take in my furious expression and think better of it. "Suit yourself," she said simply, and turned away. We did not speak for the rest of the morning and it was my two younger sisters who brought my lunch to me.

“What have you said to Judith?” Damona asked curiously as she handed over the parcel of food.

“She’s angry with you,” Elen added. They exchanged knowing glances; only fifteen months apart in age they were as close as twins sometimes and whatever one knew the other would too soon after.

“Nothing,” I said irritably, for I was tired and hot and in no mood to be reminded of my argument with Judith. Elen pouted at me and I at once felt remorse. “Don’t do that.”

“Are you really sweet on the prince?” Damona asked innocently, and I nearly choked on the apple I had just bitten into.

“Who told you that?” I spluttered.

Damona grinned at her sister, obviously taking my reaction as confirmation. “Someone.”

“Judith?”

“Maybe.”

I took another bite of the apple and glared furiously at the distant trees. “Well, it’s not true, so if I find out you’re spreading it I’ll…” I trailed off, turning my most menacing glare on the two of them.

“You’ll what?” Elen asked. She did not look remotely apprehensive. Damn them; they knew their brother all too well. I gave up trying to frighten them.

“Please don’t say anything. Especially not to Dad.”

They exchanged glances again.

“Will you take us to the fallen oak again?” Damona asked.

The fallen oak stood in a clearing a good half mile from the village. I had taken them there the previous summer on the pretext of gathering berries and they had happily spent the afternoon climbing trees and using my knife to carve rudimentary swords from fallen branches so that they could pretend to be knights – I had been dragged into this game as the monster the brave knights must slay – and all manner of other boyish pursuits that my parents would assuredly not approve of.

It was a small price to pay for their silence. “All right,” I said resignedly.

They grinned at each other.

“Will you teach us to set traps?”

I flicked away an insect that had settled on Elen’s flaxen hair. “Yes. Now go away, before I change my mind.”

Elen threw her arms round me and kissed my cheek. “You’re my favourite brother,” she informed me gravely.

“I’m your only brother. Go away.”

Grinning, she pulled away, only to be replaced by Damona, who kissed me with almost elaborate decorum. The two of them skipped away and I shook my head and wondered what I had let myself in for.

* * *

Lorin came to see me as I was repairing the fence after lunch. He watched me for a while, until I grew uneasy with the scrutiny.

"You have a talent for it," he said with a shrug when I asked him ungraciously what he wanted. "Better a farmer than a warrior."

"I want to fight," I told him, and he laughed. I was growing somewhat tired of people not taking me seriously and the hot weather was not doing much to improve my temper either.

"Once you've seen a few battles, boy,” Lorin said condescendingly. “You won't want to fight."

"You do," I said rudely.

Lorin had a cup with him and he took a long swig of whatever it contained before he replied. "I fight because I must, boy. I have a wife in Eboracum; two sons and a daughter. I fight for them. Who do you fight for?"

"I could take a wife."

He laughed again, but not unkindly. "Don't be too quick about it, boy. There's time for that yet." He patted my shoulder; thankfully it was the uninjured one. "We're leaving today anyway. Eliffer wants to be away."

I tried to get to my feet but his hand was still on my shoulder, pushing me back down.

"No, boy."

"I want to fight," I repeated stubbornly.

"This is not your fight. Your father needs you at home." He was looking directly at me, his eyes serious and intent, and I suddenly realised what he was silently telling me.

"No!" I shook off his hand. He could have forced me back, no doubt of that, but he let me go, his message delivered.

"It's for the best!" he called after me, but I was in no mind to heed his words, fixed on my purpose.

The door to our home was standing open and as I ran inside I could hear my mother weeping quietly behind the curtain that delineated my parents' sleeping area from the rest of the house. I skidded to a halt right in front of my father, who was packing clothes and food in a small pack. He took one look at me and his face fell.

"You know, then."

"Were you going to tell me?” I yelled, too furious to care whether others might hear. “Or were you just going to sneak away and let me find out afterwards?"

He flushed angrily. "Don't speak to me like that, Will. Show some respect."

"I should go, not you!" It was ridiculous that he would even think of going with Eliffer's army, to me that was plain to see. But I had no idea how to put my feelings into words that would convince him.

"No," he said firmly as my mother's sobs became louder. "The prince wants men to follow him, and you are needed here."

"But I-"

"You are my only son," he said, staring me down. "If we lost you ... who knows what would happen? You're needed here."

He was right; I knew he was right. If I died in battle and my mother did not birth another son then my father's fields would be divided between my uncles when my father died and my sisters’ futures would be dependent on their goodwill. But knowing the reasons for it did not make it any easier to bear. I had no words to convey to my father how I felt; at fifteen I was only just beginning to get to know him for the man he was rather than simply my father and our relationship had still to find its level.

"You will come back?" I asked, and I was mortified by how small and childlike my voice sounded.

My father's face softened. "Yes," he said gently. "Yes, I will come back."

He said it again some time later as he said his farewells to my mother and my sisters, and then he and the other village men who had joined Eliffer’s army marched away in company with the prince and his men. I followed the column for a while, along with the other boys of the village, until Lorin told us to go back, and then I climbed a tree by the river bank and watched them until at last their tiny figures were lost in the gathering dusk.


	3. Part Two

A week went by with no news. For me the days bled together; with all responsibility for the household thrust on to my shoulders I had little time for myself and there seemed to be a constant list of things for me to do. Eliffer had taken twenty men from the village - besides the old men and Coll, who had a twisted foot and wasn't fit for battle, that was every man of working age - and I was suddenly responsible for far more than I had ever expected.

It was a bad time of year for the men to be away from the village, though not as disastrous as it might have been if they had been taken during harvest time. There was much to do in the fields and perhaps that was a good thing, for it distracted my thoughts during the day and by the time I finally fell into my bed at night I was too tired to do anything except slip into deep, unknowing sleep.

Finally, on the eighth day, we had news, though not of Eliffer's army. A pedlar passed through Ealdor, come from the east, and he told dark stories of villages razed to the ground, men killed, women and children taken by the raiders.

"They won't stay," Adela, our neighbour, said defiantly when the pedlar had gone on his way again. Her husband was away with Eliffer too and she often came to sit with my mother. "They'll run away soon enough."

"We don't want them gone," Rosamund, the miller's wife, snapped. "We want them dead. Otherwise they'll be back next year, and the year after."

My mother said nothing but I saw how her hands tightened on the spindle she was clutching and she soon went back inside our home. When I next saw her, her eyes were red from weeping.

The weather turned two days later. Overnight clouds rolled in from the sea and my mother frowned at them and sent me up onto the roof to check the thatch.

"There's a storm coming," she said simply when I complained. "You can feel it in the air."

She was right, as my mother often was. By evening the air was close and heavy and I was woken in the night by the first rolls of distant thunder. Soon after the rain started, such rain as I had never known before. It was as if the gods had caught up every drop of the sea and hurled a raging torrent at Ealdor. There was no way we could sleep, and so my mother lit a precious candle and we all huddled together for warmth while my mother told us stories and Judith sang for us. It was many hours before the rain finally eased; when it did we were glad to find our beds again.

Dawn brought with it many depressing sights; the rain had been so heavy and so persistent that there was much damage to other houses - though not to ours, I was proud of that - and to the chicken coops. The ground was thick with mud and Ebba had already slipped over once, which proved an education for the younger children as the old man unleashed his extensive vocabulary of curses. I was kept busy all day; helping to repair what damage had been done and organising the children to collect rushes to spread over the mud to make the going less treacherous. The only consolation was that now the storm had passed the air was fresh and a cool breeze from the sea made the heat of the day bearable. In the late afternoon I went down to the river and washed away the mud and sweat and after I had swum two widths of the river I sprawled out in the long grass of the river bank and dozed for a while, enjoying the warmth of the setting sun on my skin and the peace and quiet around me.

By the time I finally stirred myself it was almost dark and I knew my mother would be worrying so I quickly dressed and set off back towards the village. I was still in that half-dream state and so at first I did not realise the import of what I was seeing as I approached. It was only when I passed the first house that realisation hit me, and when it did I began to run, heart pounding with sudden trepidation.

The door to the meeting hut was standing open; inside was gathered what looked like the entire village but I only had eyes for the three bedraggled figures standing in the middle of the floor, next to the fire pit. It was somehow not a surprise to see two of them; there was a part of me that had somehow known back in the forest that I would see Hunith and Merlin again and I was not displeased to see them. No, it was the third figure that gave my heart to miss a beat and the breath to catch in my throat.

The third figure was Lorin.

* * *

Lorin did not tell me he was sorry for my father’s death, and I was grateful to him for that. “He died bravely,” he said instead as we sat together by the fire long after the meeting hut had cleared, and those three words somehow meant more to me than any amount of mawkish sentiments might have done.

I took another swig of my ale. Aside from Merlin and Hunith, curled up in their bedding rolls on the other side of the fire, we were alone in the meeting hut but I did not think we were the only ones still awake in the village.

Tonight Ealdor mourned its dead. Fathers, sons, husbands, brothers. All gone, killed for naught in the service of a fool of a prince.

“You should be proud to be your father’s son,” Lorin said softly. "He stood and fought when a prince turned tail and ran."

Was I proud? Perhaps part of me was. My father had been a farmer, not a battle-hardened warrior, and if he had earned Lorin’s approval then he must indeed have been brave at the end. Pride did not do much to ease the aching void his death had left within me though; in those first hours it seemed unreal, as if I were watching it happen to someone else, but that initial shock was already passing, leaving something more terrible than I had ever faced before in its wake.

“The raiders…”

“Gone.” Lorin took a long swig of his own ale. “They lost enough men of their own and they were only too happy to hurry back to their ships and make sail as soon as the tide turned. No, we’re safe enough until the spring.”

Safe. I wanted to laugh. To cry. And, more than anything, I wanted my father to walk through the door, to see his wry grin and his habitual tugging at his ear when he was considering something.

“I’m for Eboracum tomorrow,” Lorin told me. He frowned at the ale. “I have to get to Einion before Eliffer does. Before the prince spreads his poison to his father’s ears.” He hesitated for a moment before he continued. “I’ll not have Aedan’s name trodden into the mud because of that idiot.”

Aedan too lay dead on the battlefield; I would not have believed it if Lorin had not sworn it true. The circumstances of his death I had already heard and they did not cast Eliffer in a good light, for he had issued foolish orders which had left his flank open to the raiders and then fled when the raiders quickly took advantage. It had been Aedan who rallied the army, Aedan who had roared at them to hold fast and not flee, Aedan who had been struck down by a raider’s axe in saving the life of another man.

“He was a good man,” I offered.

Lorin's mouth twisted. “Yes, he was.”

We sat in silence for a while. I could still hear women sobbing but there was no way of telling whether my mother and sisters were included in their number. The weight of responsibility bearing down on me was terrifying; my father’s absence had given me a taste of it but now there was no escape. With him gone, responsibility for my mother and my sisters fell squarely on my shoulders and I did not feel equal to the task.

Hunith stirred in her sleep, wresting me back from the depths of apprehension. I held my breath in case she woke up but she did not stir again. It had started to rain again while Lorin and I talked and I listened to the rain hammering against the roof and wondered if I would be spending another day repairing thatch.

“Why would the gods take a man like Aedan and spare Eliffer?” I asked, suddenly sick of the silence. “It’s not fair.”

Lorin snorted. “Who knows what the gods intend? They have their own amusements, and what seems fair to us is no concern of theirs. You might as well ask why the wind chooses to knock over one tree and not another.”

He was right, I knew he was, but it still made no sense to me. “Why should we ask them for anything then, if they do as they wish?”

Lorin grinned, for the first time since he had returned to Ealdor. “You ask because they might listen.” He got to his feet. “I’m going for a piss. You should get yourself to bed. There will be much for you to do tomorrow.”

“I know.” I could not hold back my sigh.

Lorin looked around, at the sleeping Hunith and Merlin. He had not spoken of how he had come to be travelling with them, and no one else had thought to ask. It had been assumed that they were refugees from one of the estuary villages, and I had noticed that neither Hunith nor Merlin bothered to correct the misapprehension. “I’ll sleep in the stable, I think,” he said. “Too warm for me in here.”

The door swung closed behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the sound of the rain. Common sense said I should go home but I could not face doing so. Not yet.

A small sound from the other side of the fire attracted my attention and when I glanced up I realised that Merlin was awake and watching me.

“What?”

Merlin was not remotely embarrassed at having been caught staring. He propped his head on one hand and regarded me critically. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Yes,” I lied. I was exhausted to the bone and yet sleep had never seemed further away.

I expected him to tell me to go home, and I had my angry retort ready, but Merlin said nothing. His steady regard - those eyes that seemed to see far too much of my soul - was beginning to unsettle me.

“Go back to sleep,” I muttered, and drained the last of my ale.

“There are spare blankets over there,” he said.

I blinked.

“It’s warm here by the fire.”

Perhaps it was a spell of some kind; that was surely the only reason I stood up, fetched myself two blankets from the pile Merlin had indicated, and made up a bed for myself by the fire. Merlin watched me all the while and there was something intoxicating in the way he did so.

“See? Warm.”

“Yes.” I kicked off my boots and settled into my makeshift bed and closed my eyes, feeling strangely at peace.

“Goodnight, Will,” he said softly, and as I fell asleep I realised that the rain had stopped.

* * *

Godric watches me thoughtfully as I carefully decant fresh ink into its pot. “These gods of yours…” he drawls. “Not that they were true gods, of course,” he adds hastily.

“Of course not,” I agree cheerfully. “It would be heresy to suggest otherwise.” I set the pot down on my desk. “What were you about to ask?”

“Did you believe in them?” he asks, and I cannot help but think that was not the question he meant to ask. “I know you only go to church now so that you may sleep in peace-”

“The privileges of age.” I settle back in my chair, smiling complacently. My creaking bones entitle me to the use of a most comfortable chair when we are called to worship and if the church is cold and often damp at least I do not have to stand in awkward discomfort while the priest – himself a most worldly and twisted soul – talks to us of hell and damnation and a thousand ways we might each earn our place in purgatory. “I doubt you came here today to lecture me about religion.”

“No.” Godric gets to his feet and starts pacing. He has been out all morning, drilling the soldiers he owes to the king, who is keen to start arguments with our neighbouring kingdoms as often as he can. Fealty is a heavy burden to bear.

“Then what?” A glimmer of understanding, as fragile and insubstantial as the first light of spring. “You wonder whether your god would take up a man such as Aedan and grant him mercy?”

“You said he was a good man.” He stops almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, clearly bewildered by his own thoughts. “He saved the life of another.”

“Yes.”

Godric looks at me and smiles a small, sad smile. “You said _your god_.”

“Would you have me lie?” I reply mildly. “More than I do already, at least.”

Ignoring my question he goes to the window and stares out across the courtyard. “If we lead good lives, then we are to be rewarded in heaven with forgiveness for our sins. Our prayers will be answered.”

“So they say,” I say, keeping my voice as neutral as I dare.

“Do you pray?” he asks, persistent as ever.

I think back to all the times I have run in fear of my life, all the times I have looked a man in the face and seen approaching destruction in his eyes. “Many times.”

He nods, apparently satisfied, and I wonder if their god will forgive me for that as well.

* * *

The gods may have no need to answer our prayers but for reasons of their own they smiled on us that autumn, so much so that I wondered if our bountiful harvest was some kind of recompense for the loss of our men folk. Indeed, we harvested so much from the fields that we had to build another store for it all and for the first time in years we could face winter without worrying that we might run short of food.

It was hard work for all of us, of course. With so many men dead the women had to do much of the harvesting instead but they did so without complaint - led, to my surprise, by Hunith, who settled into life in Ealdor as easily as if she had been born there and soon proved herself to be a strong and true ally in the rebuilding of the village. Ebba had grudgingly given Hunith and her son the house near ours that had been built for his lost son and I soon got used to seeing Hunith hanging out her washing as I set out each morning to start the day's chores. She always greeted me warmly, as if seeing me was the best possible start to the day, and as the weeks went on I found myself stopping to pass a few words with her from time to time. She did not press me with questions about my father, for which I was grateful, but her quiet sympathy did something to ease the grief that I could not admit in my own home.

For my mother, already grieving for my sister, my father's death came as a hammer blow and for that reason alone my own grief had to be contained for the sake of all. Never physically strong, she seemed to fade as autumn turned to winter, until Judith was taking on almost all the tasks my mother had once done. While Judith worked my mother would sit for hours by the fire staring listlessly at the wall and nothing any of us could say or do would rouse her from it.

"I think she's dying," Judith murmured to me one evening as I helped her carry water from the well.

"Is she ill?" I asked, alarmed.

It was too dark for me to see Judith's expression but I saw the impatient toss of her head. "No. Not in that way, at least."

I lit a candle when we returned home, and as I did so I realised that it had been a long time since my mother had chided me for doing so; once upon a time she would have lectured me about the waste. It was a small thing but perhaps that was the moment that I realised just how far my mother had slipped down that path from which there is no return.

"We should fetch someone for her,” I said.

"Who?" Judith poured a cup of water for her and took it over. My mother did not even acknowledge her. "If her leg was broken or she had a fever it could be cured well enough, but this ... Will, wherever she has gone it's somewhere none of us can follow."

I stared at her helplessly. She was right - how I hated to admit it - but I could not accept it as easily as she seemed to. "There has to be something we can do."

Judith shrugged. She was always more practical than I was, even as a child. "If you want something to do you can fetch more wood. It's getting cold."

I went, since it was either that or look at my mother's empty eyes. It had started raining but I did not mind that; it wasn't as if I had far to go to our wood store. My father and I had built it the previous summer to replace the one that had fallen in after years of use and it still stood true and fast. I took care to always keep it well-stocked and so it was the work of moments to fill my arms with fresh timber.

When I turned to go back inside I realised that I was being watched.

"Miserable night," Coll said laconically from the shelter of his doorway.

"Yes."

He could not see my face clearly, of course, but perhaps he heard the unspoken misery in my voice because he raised the mug he was holding in a familiar gesture. "I've ale to spare."

He didn't have to ask twice. "I'll just take this in to Judith."

My sister did not look surprised when I told her I was going to see Coll. Perhaps I should have felt more guilty about leaving her with my mother, again, but it is easy to see these things afterwards. As it was I quickly stacked the fresh wood in the corner and hurried over to Coll's home without a second thought.

Coll was waiting for me at the door and he silently handed me a mug brimming with ale before following me inside. To my surprise Merlin was there, perched on an upturned barrel on the far side of the fire with a mug of his own cradled in his hands. He smiled to me and I, after a moment's hesitation, smiled back.

I took a seat by the fire, unsure of what to say. I liked Coll; my father had not and there had been angry words between them more than once. When I was very small he had scared me, for he was tall and very well-built and he had loomed over me like a monster from the stories Ebba used to tell us, but as I grew older the fear faded and I had wondered, more than once, why he disagreed so much with my father. Certainly he had always been kind enough to me.

As one of the few men left Coll had been kept as busy as I had since the summer; in addition to his usual work in the smithy he had worked in the fields without complaint and we had exchanged a few words but we were not exactly close friends and I had no idea how to start a conversation. Coll seemed as reluctant as I was to speak and so we sat for a while drinking in silence. I fixed my attention on the fire, since it was either that or look at Merlin, and tried not to think of my father's body lying on a battlefield without even the dignity of a funeral pyre.

"It'll be a bad winter," Coll said eventually. His voice was soft, thoughtful.

"You think so?" I drained what was left of my ale. "It's been mild so far."

Coll smiled a secretive smile into his own ale. "The snow comes. A good thing we had such a good harvest." He refilled my mug. Much more and I would be horribly hung-over tomorrow but at that moment I did not care. "How is your mother?"

"Bad." I took a deep swig, feeling the ale burn its path down my throat.

Coll nodded but said nothing.

Merlin shifted on his perch. Coll did not offer him more ale. I wondered again what he was doing there.

"Want something to eat? There's some fish left. Fresh today." Some of my surprise must have shown on my face for Coll went on to explain. "Merlin has been fishing."

I bit back the sarcastic remark that had been my first response, very much aware that Merlin was watching me. "Yes, thank you."

Coll cooked the already-prepared fish quickly and expertly and then he shared it out between the three of us. It amused me to see how quickly Merlin devoured his; it was a mystery to me how he remained so scrawny if that was how he always ate. When we were done Merlin jumped down to collect up the remains and went outside to feed them to the cats.

"You’re taking him on as an apprentice?" I asked once he had gone, curious as to the reason for Merlin’s presence.

Coll gave me a long look before he replied. "I'm courting Hunith," he said at last.

"Oh." I waited for him to continue but it quickly became clear that I wasn't going to get any more on that subject.

"He helps me out," Coll said instead. "Fetching and carrying. And the like."

The sarcastic remark was back, hovering on my tongue; Merlin was hardly built for hard labour. "Has he told you anything about where he came from?"

"Deva."

"Which is where?"

Coll drained his mug and gave me a hard look. "Rheged."

I knew little of Rheged; occasional travellers told us tales of distant kingdoms but my father had always taught me not to listen too closely to such tales. "So why are they here?"

Coll shrugged. To this day I do not know if he did not care or simply did not know. "Does it matter?"

"If they mean us harm..."

He gave me a disbelieving look. "Do you truly think either of them mean us harm?"

I swallowed awkwardly. "No, of course not."

Our conversation was curtailed by Merlin's return. He seemed oblivious to the strained atmosphere between Coll and I as he took his seat again.

"You should be getting home," Coll told him. He looked at me. "You too. Your mother will be missing you."

"I doubt it." I had not meant the words to slip out and there was a moment of pained silence in which I could not meet the smith's eyes.

"Get some sleep, Will," Coll said gently, when the silence had grown to be something almost unbearable. "Things will look better in the morning."

I nodded. It was an effort to get to my feet; I suddenly felt far, far older than my fifteen years. A mumbled goodbye and I was on my way, Merlin following at my heels. I think I expected him to say something but he left me without a word and I stared at his retreating back with something like resentment before turning for my own door and my waiting bed.

* * *

My mother died five weeks later, as the first blast of winter blew in from the sea and the snow fell thick upon the ground.

An unfortunate accident, Hunith insisted when she came round to cook for us that night, and it was a kind lie, one we clung to in those first days. Rosamund had found my mother in the meadow beyond the millpond, already half-buried in the snow, her shawl cast off nearby, and no sign of ill-intent. She was not the first to die in that way and all knew that, if caught outside in the cold of winter, the spirits of the underworld might trick the mind into believing the body to be warm even as its life heat diminished, but though I nodded agreement in my heart I spoke otherwise.

Coll helped me carry my mother’s body back to the village and he helped me build a pyre for her too. The snow fell so thick I could not light the fire and it was Merlin who prised the tinderbox from my frozen fingers and coaxed flame into life.

"I'm good with fire," he said, blushing, when he caught my surprised glance.

Judith stood at my side, pale and drawn, clutching Damona and Elen to her tightly. The three of them wept as the flames licked higher but I did not.

I felt nothing; not grief nor anger.

When it was done I let Hunith take my sisters home and I spent the evening sitting by Coll's fire getting steadily more drunk while the smith refilled my mug every time it looked like I might run dry. I woke the next morning where I had fallen asleep, although someone had been kind enough to put a blanket over me during the night. Merlin, similarly wrapped in a blanket, was snoring on the other side of Coll's fire pit but he woke when I got up.

"Do you want breakfast?"

"Can you cook?" I asked, surprised.

He grinned. "No."

"Well then." I stretched, wishing I had not had quite so much to drink. "Anyway, this isn't even your house."

"It might be soon," he said with that disarming honesty I was already starting to associate with him.

"You mean your mother and..."

"Why not?"

I shrugged. "Fine by me." And it was. Coll was a good man and Hunith a kind woman still young enough to bear children. Ealdor needed a future; as it was it was a village of old men and children and that was a dangerous thing. "What about you? What do you think about it?"

"Me?" Merlin looked startled, as if it had never occurred to him that he might have an opinion on the matter.

"It doesn't worry you?"

"Should it?"

With anyone else I might have pointed out the dangers of other sons to his inheritance but it seemed ridiculous to say such a thing to Merlin; it wasn't even as if he had much of an inheritance to lose. "No, I suppose not."

"So it doesn't matter." His eyes were far too knowing for my liking and I had a feeling that he knew exactly what I had been going to say. "My mother will have cooked breakfast."

I wasn't going to ignore that offer. "What about..." I half-turned towards the curtained-off sleeping area but Merlin waved a dismissive hand.

"He's up already. Don't worry. Come on."

I suppose I should admit that there was a certain curiosity behind my acceptance; I had not been in the cottage since Hunith and Merlin had moved into it. At first glance I was disappointed - aside from the simple, homely changes Hunith had made there was little of interest. I could only assume that Hunith was helping Judith for the house was empty though the fire had clearly been laid that morning. I sat cautiously on a bench by the wall while Merlin investigated the cooking pot.

"Porridge. Do you want some?"

I nodded and as I did so my enquiring gaze fell on something that was out of place here. I got to my feet as Merlin fussed over finding bowls and wandered over, curiosity piqued.

"You can write?"

Merlin looked up to where I stood holding the scrap of parchment and the ink-stained quill and an expression I had not seen before flitted across his face. "Those are my mother's," he said in a strained voice.

I put them back where I had found them. "Sorry."

"Don't be." As quickly as it had come his strange mood was gone. He rose, handing me a bowl. "Here."

"Thanks."

We ate in companionable silence until Merlin broke it with a question.

"Can you write?"

"No." I could have gone on, could have told him about the wandering priest, years ago, who had taught me and some of the other children a few letters before the menfolk had sent him on his way with angry words and a few angry blows.

"I could teach you, if you like."

His eyes were wide, impossibly blue, gazing at me in a way that made me suddenly, unaccountably angry.

"I don't need your help."

And with that I threw down my bowl and stormed from Hunith's house into the falling snow.

* * *

That winter was the coldest winter I have ever known and there came a time, in the week after Yule, when I almost despaired of the storm ever passing. Until then I had no time to think about such things but on the shortest day of the year two men, refugees from a village burned by the raiders, came to Ealdor and their coming eased a little of my workload so that at last I had time to myself.

This was not, I soon realised, a good thing. Idleness gave my mind opportunity to wander down dark and winding roads and there was no telling where such roads might lead and it was for that very reason that I found myself setting out on what was almost certainly a futile hunt for any game stupid enough to be out in the cold just to distract myself from such dangerous thoughts.

It was a bitterly cold day. The snow had eased, for once, but it was settled deep underfoot and I was grateful for my new boots and the thick coat that kept the worst of the cold from my body. We had cleared pathways through the snow about the village itself but once outside its boundaries the going became harder and soon enough my muscles were aching with every step. It did not occur to me for a moment to go back though; going back would have meant spending the morning at home and I could not face that.

Once under the shelter of the trees there was less snow on the ground and the going was much easier. I took a moment to stop and get my breath back before pressing on. Although the trees had screened the forest floor from the worst of the snow, every branch was glazed with ice, glittering in the feeble morning sun. It was almost - almost - beautiful, or it would have been if it did not remind me of the deadly cold that had taken my mother.

The same cold that had crept into my heart and refused to thaw.

Siward, one of the men who had come to us that winter, had gone out two days earlier to set traps and I had already decided that I might as well check on those, even if I did not expect to find anything in them. The first trap I investigated was empty, as was the second. I trudged on, feeling the frustration rise, and then I heard again a sound that I had heard during my rest without taking in its meaning but which now echoed in my mind as loud as any warning bell.

Someone was following me.

I drew back into what cover was provided by the trunks of two trees growing close together and drew my hunting knife from its sheath. I was not afraid; the noise I had heard was that of a lone pursuer.

More twigs snapped, close by. I gripped my knife tighter, holding my breath as my pursuer approached.

"Will?"

I sagged, lowering the knife. I knew that voice. "Merlin, what the hell are you doing?"

"Looking for you."

He was, I noted automatically as he stumbled into sight, nearly as pale as the ice on the trees. Merlin had grown a little taller in the months since he had arrived in Ealdor but he still was not much taller than me and I had no idea where all the food he ate was actually going for he was still as scrawny as a beggar child. Certainly he was hardly built for trekking through the forest in this weather.

He was shivering, now I came to look more closely. "You idiot. You'll freeze." A sudden panicked thought struck me. "Is something wrong? Is-"

"No!" he cut across me before I could articulate my worst fears, hands raised to placate me. "Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine."

"You mean apart from you following me?" We had hardly spoken for weeks but now, as I looked at him properly for the first time since the morning I had lost my temper with him, I could feel the anger seeping out of me. It was hard to be angry with Merlin at the best of times, and when he looked as cold and pinched as he did that morning it was impossible. "Don't you have a thicker coat?"

He looked down at his thin, over-sized jacket and smiled ruefully. "No. It never seemed to matter, before."

"Idiot." I looked around but there wasn't much in the way of shelter. "Look, go back to the village. I'm checking Siward's traps, there's no need for you to be here."

"I'll come with you," he said at once and beamed at me as if that was a perfectly reasonable suggestion.

What could I do? It seemed he was determined to freeze to death in order to stay with me and that was flattering in its own way. "Your mum and Coll busy then?" I teased, for Coll had moved into their cottage before Yule, to nobody's surprise. Merlin seemed happy enough with the arrangement from what little I had seen of him but I was still curious.

He shrugged, unfazed by my remark. "I doubt it. He's fixing Ebba's roof."

His lips were turning blue. Sighing inwardly, I shrugged off my thick coat and held it out to him. "Give me your coat; you put that on. Before you freeze."

I thought he was going to argue but he gave me one of his quick, searching looks and took off his own coat before handing it to me.

"That's much better," he said cheerfully as he fastened my coat.

I eyed him balefully, very much aware that the coat I was now wearing was nothing like as warm as the one I had given to Merlin. "Come on then."

I set off once more and he quickly fell into step with me, uncharacteristically quiet as we made our way through the undergrowth. I expected him to soon tire but he kept pace with me, uncomplaining.

The next trap was empty, as I had expected. Merlin looked at me expectantly.

"What?" I demanded.

"Shouldn't there be something to catch?"

"Rabbits aren't stupid enough to be out in this weather." I was in two minds whether to go on; since I had found nothing so far it seemed pointless to keep looking.

"Where are they then?" He was actually looking around, as if he expected to see rabbits appear from the trees.

"They sleep in the winter," I explained patiently.

“All winter?”

“Yes.”

This was obviously news to Merlin, which only added to my suspicions about Merlin's life before he had come to Ealdor. No boy who had grown up as we had would be so ignorant of such a simple fact.

I did not challenge him about it though. Not then.

"Why do they sleep?" Merlin asked curiously.

"Because they do. Maybe they have more sense than us." I turned to get my bearings. "Come on, we'll head back now. We've been out here long enough and I don't want to freeze even if you do. It's not like we need the food anyway; there's still plenty in the stores."

"Mum says it's going to be a long winter." Merlin didn't move, to my annoyance. "Maybe we should keep looking."

"For what, snow?"

He grinned, totally unrepentant. "Maybe."

Magic, it had to be; I felt my lips curve into an answering grin as my resolve crumbled under the onslaught of his smile. "One more then."

There was a rabbit in the third trap. Fresh too. Merlin, to his credit, said nothing to rub in the fact that he had been right and I had been wrong as I freed our prize from the trap. It was a good weight; it would make a good meal for us.

"Now can we go home?"

Merlin nodded. He did not protest when we turned for home but I soon noticed that he was walking more slowly than he had been, slow enough that he started to fall behind and I had to slow my own pace to match.

"Keep up," I told him brusquely.

"I'm tired."

I aimed a half-punch at his thin shoulder. "You can rest by the fire at home. Sit down here and you won't move again."

He looked up at me, eyes wide with contrition. "I'm sorry."

My heart might have been frozen but when it came to Merlin there was a part that was still capable of feeling guilt. My hand hovered over his arm, close enough that I could feel the heat of him. "Don't be stupid."

He looked down. He was looking at my hand and I could not see his face clearly enough to make out his expression.

"It's my birthday," he said, unexpectedly.

"Good," I said, for want of anything else to say. He was still looking at my hand and I, fool that I was, could somehow not bring myself to move either towards him or away.

To this day I do not know what might have happened that day, and whether it would have made any difference to our fates, if at that moment I had not heard over my own rasping breath a soft and very distinct sound not so far away. I tensed and Merlin, sensing my apprehension, did too.

"What is it?"

"Quiet," I hissed. I fumbled for my knife, hoping with all my might that this was nothing more than another villager come to seek one or both or us.

Another sound, this time the unmistakable sound of a twig snapping under a man's foot. I pushed the rabbit unceremoniously into Merlin's hands and shuffled him behind me as another twig snapped, closer than before.

It was no man of Ealdor who emerged from the undergrowth; indeed it was no man I had ever seen before. A thin, ragged figure of a man he was, dirty-faced and wild-eyed, and clutching a wicked-looking knife in his clawed hand as he lunged towards us. I had not seen him before but I had heard enough stories to know that he was one of those whose minds have been shattered and torn, and that there was no reasoning with his ilk.

"Run," I hissed at Merlin, and the idiot got all of ten paces before he stopped and looked back to me.

"Will!"

"Run!" The wild man had stopped for the moment, just a few paces from me, but his blade was aimed at my heart and there was no doubt in my mind that he meant me harm.

And I found, in that moment, that I did not care.


	4. Part Three

It had been luck, of course, that had caused the branch to break at exactly the right moment to knock our attacker unconscious. That was my story, at least, and I must have sounded convincing for no one questioned my tale too closely and the need for it was quickly lost in the bustle of celebrating the passing of winter, the rebirth of the mother-goddess Brigid. Merlin had the good sense to avoid me for a few weeks and if I felt a twinge of guilt every time I caught a glimpse of him - and the livid bruise on his cheekbone - who was to know?

A pedlar passed through Ealdor soon after the snow finally began to melt and he brought unwelcome news. Eliffer Gosgorddfawr was raising another army against the raiders, even though it was far too early in the year for them to come from their far-away land. Opinion in the village agreed that Eliffer would find nothing but seagulls if he marched to the coast; it also agreed that perhaps that was exactly what the fool prince wanted, fond as he was of letting other men fight his battles while he remained safe. Sure enough, before the month was out another traveller brought the tale of the injury Eliffer had supposedly suffered in mortal combat - though the man avowed that in truth the prince had merely tumbled from his horse after too much wine - and how he had been taken back to Eboracum to recuperate. There would be no summer campaign for our prince this year.

By early spring word reached us that Eliffer was engaged in another princely pursuit; it seemed he had bowed to his father's insistence that he take a bride and had entered into an alliance with Gilda, daughter of King Masgwid of Elmet. Masgwid was himself a cousin of Einion's and held no little power and so a union between our lands was something to be desired. Although we had no interest in the politics of state there was still interest in the marriage in the village - though I myself had no wish to hear anything more of princes and kings as long as I lived - since however much Eliffer was held in contempt for the loss of our menfolk any son of his might one day be our king.

"Masgwid," Ebba intoned, in the tone of one who was on intimate terms with a king none of us had ever seen, "is no fool. With luck their child will get his brains and not the prince his father's."

I deliberately did not think much of Eliffer lest my thoughts descend into bitterness and the desire for revenge but I did think of Lorin from time to time. I could not help but wonder if he had made it back to Eboracum before Eliffer, and if he had been able to prevent Eliffer's lies from placing the blame for the previous year's disaster squarely on Aedan's shoulders. For a while I toyed with the idea of going to Eboracum myself to find him but there was too much for me to do in Ealdor to even contemplate such a journey. The thaw ended my temporary respite from the hardest labour and our lack of menfolk was even more painfully apparent as we began the task of ploughing our fields and sowing the new year's crops.

I had little time for myself and so on the one afternoon I had taken myself to one of the fallow fields and sprawled out in the soft grass to watch the clouds scudding overhead I was less than pleased to see a familiar gangling figure heading towards me. I pretended I had not seen him but Merlin was not so easily dissuaded and, with a cheery greeting, he dropped to the ground beside me and made himself comfortable.

"What?" I demanded in what I hoped was a cold and dismissive tone.

"I brought you something to eat," he said mildly, proffering a wrapped bundle.

It was a peace offering of sorts. I could have ignored or refused it, and perhaps I had every reason to do so. But, whether I liked it or not, he had saved my life. Reluctantly I propped myself up on my elbows and investigated what he had brought me. The first item caused me to raise my eyebrows; there was no mistaking the delicate, veined cheese that only one woman in the village made and she guarded her secrets closely.

"Is this Jena's cheese?"

Merlin grinned, unabashed. "Maybe."

I kicked his ankle, though not with any real rancour. "Idiot. She'll have your guts for garters if she finds out you took it."

"She'll never know it was me."

"No." I split the cheese in half, and the bread Merlin had brought too, and offered him his share. A peace offering of my own. "She'll probably think it was me."

He grinned again at that. "She says you're a troublemaker. That you’ve always been a troublemaker."

"Maybe I am." And I had been, when there had been no responsibility on my shoulders and no aching void within my heart.

We ate in silence for a while. An eagle was soaring over the next field, searching for prey. I watched it with envy, wishing that I too had the freedom to fly wherever I might choose, soaring on the breeze, a slave to no man.

"You've torn your jacket," Merlin said.

"What?" I turned my head and found him staring at me and it was with difficulty that I wrenched my gaze away to look down at the jagged tear in the sleeve of my jacket. "Damn. I'll get Judith to mend it tonight."

Merlin snickered. "You might have to wait your turn. She's been darning Siward's socks."

I gave him a sharp look. There was no mistaking that tone of voice. "As long as it's just his socks she's interested in. She's only a girl."

"Have you seen your sister lately?" At my glare Merlin stopped whatever else he had been about to say and sighed. "Look ... she's old enough, Will. Old enough to run your house while you're busy running around in the fields from dawn till dusk."

"I have things to do," I said defensively. "We have few men and I-"

"Could let others do some of it," he said equably. He was not at all afraid of my anger and that, if nothing else, drained my rage away as suddenly as it had come upon me. "You still have a family."

There was silence between us after he had spoken, a silence long enough to become uncomfortable. It was a test of will, and I was the one who broke first.

"What do you want, anyway?" I said tiredly, for I was so very, very tired. "Don't you have something to do?"

Merlin smiled his most open and innocent smile. "I'm chopping wood for the forge."

"I can see that."

"And bringing you food."

"I got that too." I kicked him again. "Look, I'll talk to Judith if it means you shut up. Now let me sleep."

Merlin's answering grin was almost dazzling in its intensity but I told myself it was only the heat of the sun that made me feel suddenly warm inside.

* * *

Another week and the hawthorn bloomed on each side of the path leading down to the river and that, I told Merlin, meant we should prepare food for our visitors and start building the fires.

"Visitors?" He was trotting along at my side in that disjointed way of his, as ungainly as a newborn colt. "What visitors?"

"The dancers," I said shortly.

"Dancers?" Merlin looked genuinely bemused and I was forced to temporarily postpone the quiet day of fishing I had planned to explain it to him.

I was never much of a wordsmith and he did not look much more enlightened when I had finished but to his credit he did not ask foolish questions or ask me to repeat myself.

"So when will they come?" he asked instead.

I shrugged. "Who knows? They come when it is time for them."

"And they come every year?"

"Without fail, as long as I can remember." I looked pointedly at the axe he was carrying. Inept as he was at most things, Merlin was very good at collecting firewood and it had quickly become his primary chore. "Aren't you supposed to be doing something?"

"Not yet," he said dismissively and hunkered down on the riverbank with that intent expression I had learned to dread because it meant he would continue to enquire until his curiosity was satisfied. "So where do they come from?"

"Who knows? Ebba says their kind can talk to the gods, that they do not dance on mortal pathways." Ebba had said that, after a few more cups of ale than he might normally drink, but he had brusquely sent my ten-year old self away when I asked about it the next day and it had never been discussed since. "I don't think they have a lord."

"Every man must have a lord," he said simply, as if this was some unalterable truth.

I looked across the river at the low, smooth rock on the far bank. Years ago my father had stood on that very rock when he had taught me to swim. "A man should answer only to himself. It's better that way."

Merlin was quiet for a while, and I took the opportunity to get myself settled. This wasn't the best part of the river for fishing but it had the advantage of being both sheltered and far enough from Ealdor that there was little chance of anyone accidentally stumbling across us.

I pushed away the thought of why I did not want to be disturbed while I was with Merlin.

"I'll go and, um, chop wood," he said finally.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and continued to stare ahead as if the sight of my line arched far over the tumbling waters was the most absorbing sight in all the world. I heard him get to his feet.

"You'll be here?"

Another nod. I held my breath until the sound of his retreating footsteps had faded away and all was quiet and still.

Minutes passed. I cocked my head but I could still hear nothing save for the constant, soothing babbling of the river. I grinned to myself and lay back in the grass and closed my eyes. Not to sleep - I was aware enough to be brought back in a heartbeat if there was any pull on the line - but to a pleasant state of abstraction where I could, for a while, forget the mundane matters of everyday life and allow my thoughts to drift where they may.

And if my thoughts drifted to Merlin there was no one to know it.

He came back eventually, proudly carrying his firewood and looking suitably worn. I let him set his burden down and take his place again at my side before I casually remarked:

"You forgot the axe."

His gaze flickered from the axe I held outstretched in my hand to my face; panic flared in his eyes, a second before he scrambled back, trying to get away from my other hand which had clamped down on his ankle.

"Calm down!” I yelled. “I'm not going to hurt you!"

He kicked me, harder than I would have thought possible; cursing, I released my hold on him and in doing so managed to drop the axe. At the same time he jumped to his feet and turned to run.

"Merlin!"

He looked back and I got two steps towards him before I tripped over a rock that was inexplicably under my feet and fell flat on my face. Winded, I staggered to my feet again.

"I'm not going to hurt you, you idiot," I wheezed.

Wide-eyed and panting, he looked like a startled deer about to bolt; his hands were clenched into fists and that would have been amusing if I hadn't already been very much aware that Merlin wasn't exactly defenceless.

"I promise I won't hurt you." I took a step backwards and winced as my ankle protested. "Or tell anyone."

Merlin didn't move. He didn't seem inclined to speak either. I hesitantly moved back to the river bank and settled myself again, wincing as I stretched my injured ankle out.

When I looked up again he was staring at me, still afraid, but there was something else in his expression now.

"Aren't you afraid of me?"

"I'm terrified." I managed to peel the boot off my aching foot and winced when I caught sight of my ankle, already swelling and promising to bruise. "Find me a stick, will you? Unless you want to carry me home."

He approached me warily, hands held close at his side and body tensed for flight. "Are you hurt?"

I bit back my first sarcastic response. "My ankle."

"Sorry about that." To his credit Merlin did look abashed as he knelt by my feet and gingerly folded back my trouser leg. "That looks painful."

"Ow!" His touch was clumsy and my ankle was more tender to the touch than I had expected. "Try and be careful, will you?"

"I don't think it's broken," he said cheerfully. "Just sprained."

"Can't you magic it better or something?"

He flinched; his hand fell away as if he had been stung. "No," he mumbled. "I don't think I know how."

"You don't think you..." I gave up; perhaps it didn't matter and I did not much like the pinched, miserable expression on Merlin's face. "Just find me that stick."

It didn't take him long to find a stick long enough and thick enough for me to use as a makeshift crutch and with his help I managed to get back to my feet.

"Do you think you can make it back to Ealdor?" he asked.

"Yes." I tried a few awkward steps. "You'll have to bring the fishing rod though. And the wood. You can come back for it."

Merlin gave me his wary look again. "What about-"

"Forget it," I said firmly, cutting him off. Them, when he still looked miserable, I added, "I won't say anything. Your secret's safe."

He looked at me for a moment longer and then he nodded. “Thank you,” he said simply.

I was not the first to know of Merlin’s magic, and I would not be the last, but I like to think that my easy acceptance of it was held dear to him always.

* * *

“Was that the moment when you-” Godric stops in mid-sentence and flushes so violently that he resembles nothing less than one of the ripe tomatoes Eldred had brought me from the fields earlier that morning.

“When I what?” I ask, amused.

He scowls. “You know what I speak of.” He hesitates for a moment. “You should not write those things. What if Eldred were to read them?”

“He can’t read this,” I point out as calmly I can, trying not to lose my temper. “And even if he could, why should I deny the truth of what was?”

“Because it is-” He stops again and the warring emotions flitting across his face would be amusing at any other time.

“A sin?” I suggest, helpfully.

He looks at me with anguished eyes. “Yes.”

“Then you will have to be content with the thought of me in hell then,” I say sharply. “Merlin was my friend.”

“More than your friend,” Godric retorts, and then he realises what he has just said and blushes all over again.

I let him be for a moment, contenting myself with watching the bustle of the market in the courtyard below. A pretty girl with hair like spun gold catches my eye and I curse my advanced years yet again.

“Do you think…” Godric breaks off, apparently still lost for words.

“Be on with it,” I tell him, perhaps more curtly than I intended. “I might be dead by the time you get to the point.”

That makes him smile, at least. “Do you think magic will return to our land?” he blurts out.

“How can it?” My eyes turn to the girl again. “Magic is nothing but a fairy tale, a lie told to entrap the faithful. That is what we are told, is it not?”

“But you write it as truth,” he says doggedly.

“And so it is.” Regretfully I turn my attention from the girl and concentrate on my beleaguered son-in-law instead. “Perhaps it would be easier for you if you saw it as nothing more than an old man’s fancy. In a hundred years who will know different? Already there are those who say that Arthur himself never existed. Who will remember him a hundred, a thousand years hence?”

He ponders that, while I resume my viewing of the market place.

* * *

The dancers came to Ealdor three days after I turned my ankle. They came before dawn, so that when I stumbled from my house still blinking back the vestiges of sleep my blurred vision took in the crude shelters they had constructed in my fallow field and not the fiery morning sky that signalled a gathering storm.

They were a ragged band; ten men, four women and an assortment of children of varying ages. They had not tarried in setting up their camp and the women already had a cooking pot steaming over a fire while the men sat in a huddle watching me in turn.

Judith came to stand at my side, silent and watchful. We had said virtually nothing to each other over the last few days and although Merlin's words were still fresh in my mind I could not think of a way to broach the subject with her.

Judith was always the braver of the two of us.

"There will be a child," she said quietly.

I continued to stare at the dancers' camp, though I was no longer seeing it. I was not as surprised at her words as perhaps I should have been. Perhaps part of me had already known. "Siward's?"

"Yes." There was no mistaking the steel in her tone.

"He's a good man."

"Yes, he is." Her hand slipped into mine, soft and warm.

"You can have the house, if you want it."

She tightened her grip on my hand. "Are you sure?"

My first response was half-laugh, half-sob. How could I begin to explain how little like home our house felt now? Even on the nights I did manage to sleep more than half the night through I never felt rested and invariably woke with chills and a head that ached as if I had drunk my fill of ale the night before. In every corner I saw my mother's ghost and more than once I could have sworn I had heard my father's voice.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Where will you go?" She was ever calm, ever practical, my Judith. Having accepted my decision she was already thinking through the practicalities of it.

"I can sleep in the forge, if Coll allows it. In the meeting hut if not."

"The forge would be warmer."

Rosamund went past at that moment, carrying water. She nodded in greeting when she saw us; Judith smiled a greeting for both of us.

"I'll talk to Siward," I said when she had gone. "We can come to some arrangement with the fields."

Judith gave me a sly sideways look. "The fields are yours, Will, you know that."

"Who's to say I will have a son?" I retorted. "I don't care about it."

"You should." She relinquished my hand abruptly. "And anyway, Ebba says that Siward can have part of the field beyond the well. We'll manage."

I nodded. It made sense; land was everything and land lying fallow with no one to work it did no good to any of us. I should have known that Judith had already thought matters through to their logical conclusion; of all my sisters she had least need of my protection.

"Thank you, Will," she said softly.

She went back into the house to begin cooking breakfast and I resumed my silent contemplation of the dancers.

* * *

The women and girls had spent all day picking flowers and by sundown the village was bedecked with colourful, sweet-smelling garlands of daffodils and bluebells and marigolds. Giggling children ran to and fro as the men and boys finished building the two Beltane fires, while all the while the dancers watched our preparations with a calm intent that bordered on disinterest.

"All ready?" I asked Siward as the sun finally slipped below the horizon. He was stacking hawthorn neatly in the lee of the meeting hut; it could not be taken into any home until dawn and even then for one day only.

"Ready enough," he said equably. We had not yet spoken of Judith, or of their child, but there was a silent understanding between us that night. "Will you light the fires?"

I demurred. "It's not for me to do it. One of the older men, maybe." Yet even as I spoke I saw Ebba heading towards me and my heart sank. "Must I?"

As I knelt by the first fire, awkward because my ankle still ached, I did not have much hope of kindling a spark with the oaken spindle and socket only brought out at such times but to my astonishment almost at once the flame sparked and with careful nurture I was able to coax that first, fragile fire to burn brighter, higher, and soon both bonfires were ablaze. I glanced up, still full of delighted pride at my own skill, to see Merlin watching me from across the fire.

It was surely only the light of the fire that made his eyes glow gold.

I had duties to attend to; no time to dawdle. The cattle were brought out from the barns, the sheep and goats and pigs brought from their pens. The distressed cacophony as they were driven closer to the flames was almost painful to the ears but there was no panic and by the time the moon had risen in the sky we had driven each and every one of them between the bonfires. My throat was hoarse from shouting, my hands red raw from guiding and - sometimes - forcefully shoving the animals in the right direction but there was a lightness in my heart there had not been for a long time as I made my way over to the stall set up in front of the meeting hut piled high with food and drink. Elbowing my way through those congregated around it, I took my share of freshly-cooked beef and bread still warm from the oven and went to join Gavin, a boy three years younger than I whose father had also been killed in Eliffer's army and who had laboured at my side all through the harvest and the long winter.

Our conversation was desultory, broken by stretches of comfortable silence while we watched the girls dancing around the fires to a rhythm only they could hear. Our tankards were refilled without either of us having to say a word and I leaned back against the hut and let the warmth of the ale seep into my bones.

"Are you ... you know," Gavin said suddenly. My expression must have betrayed my confusion, for he grinned and elbowed me. "It's Beltane."

"Oh. Yes." I was grateful for the dim light so he could not see my blush. "I suppose so."

"You suppose so," he mimicked. "Who is it to be, then?"

I frowned. Last year it had been Poppy, the cooper's daughter, but she had shown no interest in me this night or indeed in the months since last Beltane. If I had cared it might have been insulting.

I looked over at the fires, seeking her out. She smiled when she caught me looking, tossing her hair and gazing back so brazenly I could feel a sudden heat flare through my limbs that had nothing to do with the Beltane fires.

"She's very pretty," Gavin said slyly.

"Yes." I took another long draught of ale. "She is."

"Well then."

Coll moved into my field of vision, Hunith at his side. They smiled at me like a long-lost son.

"Well done with the fires," Coll told me. "I know it's not easy to get a spark with everyone watching you."

"You did very well," Hunith added, and her hand came up to brush a crumb from my cheek.

I was blushing again; I dipped my head to hide it even though I knew they could not see. It made me more uncomfortable than I would have liked to have her touch me with such kindness.

One of the women travelling with the dancers had brought out a drum and was beating an insidious rhythm. The girls danced faster, laughing and calling to each other as they whirled and dipped around the flames. I caught sight of Judith, not dancing with the other girls but held close in Siward's arms instead. She looked so happy my heart clenched.

"Will?"

I came back to myself to find Hunith watching me, and again I hoped she could not see me clearly.

"I'm fine," I said with mock cheer. "I'll fetch some more wood for the fires."

It was a weak excuse - there was still firewood piled high near each fire - but it allowed me to slip away without being too rude about the going. To maintain the facade I headed into the trees. I wasn't stupid enough to wander the forest itself in the darkness but I was familiar enough with the path along the treeline not to fall over anything as I went through the pretence of gathering what branches I could find by touch.

I heard the footsteps long before I bothered to acknowledge them. They were soft and light enough to bring me no threat and I kept quiet in case the woman who came towards me was intent only on finding privacy under the trees rather than finding me.

"Will?"

I dropped the wood I was carrying. "Poppy?"

Three steps and I was there with her. She was shivering but her skin was still fire-warm as I took in her in my arms. Her hair smelled of wood smoke; her mouth tasted of ale and honey.

And for a time I felt alive again.

* * *

"Is it always like this?" Merlin asked softly as we watched the dancers emerge from their shelters in the pre-dawn light.

"Yes," I said, not sure if he was referring to them or what had passed the night before. I was in no mood to talk about it; after walking Poppy back to her home I had proceeded to go back to the meeting hut and drink near my own body weight in ale. I was sure I was still drunk, and equally sure that eventually the drink would have its revenge on me.

Merlin was quiet for a while. The dancers moved with silent intent, so confident in themselves and each other that they needed no words to take their places between the smouldering fires. There was something unearthly about them; the way they held themselves, the way they moved in perfect, unsettling harmony as each held up the sword he carried.

There was no drum now, no laughter, no cheering. Merlin and I sat on the fence of the chicken run but the others clustered around the meeting hut, wrapped in blankets against the dawn chill.

The sky was lightening by the second, and I felt the excitement begin to course through me. Merlin seemed to sense it too; his body tensed and his knuckles were white where he gripped the rail.

"Now," I breathed, half to him and half to myself, and at last the dancers moved.

As a child it had fascinated me and even now I could not take my eyes away as the dancers whirled and stamped in perfect unison, swords clashing in mock-battle, blades always a hairbreadth from drawing blood.

And the sun rose again with the promise of new life.

"Come on," Merlin said quietly when the dancers had finally laid their swords down and set to work on the breakfast the women had prepared for them.

"I'm fine here." I was loathe to move, as if doing so would somehow break the spell.

He tugged at my sleeve. "Come and have breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

My sleeve had ridden up; his hand was warm on my arm. "Come down to the river then."

 _Sorcerer_ , I thought dreamily, and I wondered if this was some spell he had cast on me as I slipped down from my perch and followed him. But I was not afraid; the time for being afraid had long since passed.

* * *

"She was pretty," Merlin said, some time later, as we lay side by side in the soft grass by the water's edge.

"Who, Poppy?" I knew without opening my eyes that he was watching me. "Yes."

"Are you ... are you and her..."

"No." There was a fly buzzing around my head and I swatted it away.

He was silent for a while, then: "Aren't you afraid of me?"

"Should I be?"

"I'm..." He was struggling for words this morning, more so than usual. I took pity on him.

"A sorcerer. I know." I swatted at the fly again. For some reason it seemed to have taken a liking to me. "Are you planning on casting a spell on me?"

I felt him shift, heard the hitch in his breathing. "No."

I could hear children playing, somewhere just on the edge of hearing. Far enough away not to disturb us.

"Is it why you left Deva?" It was like stepping out onto an ice-covered lake, testing, probing, never quite sure if the ground would fall away from under me. I didn't want to push too far and have him run away again. "Did you have to leave?"

Perhaps he too was lulled by the warmth of the sun and the long sleepless night. "Yes. There was a boy..." he trailed off for a moment and then seemed to regain his courage. "He was a bully; he stole from the younger children. I made him stop."

I could sense there was more to the story than he had shared but now was not the time to push. "How did you learn magic?" I asked instead. "Did someone teach you?"

"I didn't learn..." I felt him turn over, towards me. His breath ghosted over my face. "You're really not afraid of me?"

"I'm more afraid of your mother," I told him, trying and failing to keep the smile from my lips.

Merlin laughed. "Me too." His hand brushed against mine. "Should we go back, do you think?"

I thought about it. There were chores to be done but I knew that there would be little done today save what was necessary for tonight's Beltane feast. And I was tired, so very tired.

"No, there's no hurry."

And there, by the riverbank, bathed in sunlight and with Merlin at my side I fell into sleep.


	5. Part Four

The summer of the raiders started like any other. In later years I often wondered if there had been some portent of what was to come, some little thing I might have missed, but the truth of it is that there was nothing of the sort. The rain storms of spring segued into a summer of hot days and mild nights and by midsummer it was so warm and humid in the evenings that we slept outside in the fields, lulled to sleep by the slight breeze that blew in from the sea.

It was on one of those evenings that I first kissed Merlin.

The secluded stretch of riverbank had become somehow ours and more often than not I found reason to slip away from the others sleeping in the fields and make my way there instead. Merlin would usually join me soon after and we would sleep there, side by side. Although at first we would fall asleep with a good distance between us, by morning Merlin had invariably curled himself around me, long legs draped over me, scrawny arms hugging me with a strength I would not otherwise have believed he possessed. After a few nights of this I bowed to the inevitable and told him he might as well start the night so. Which he eagerly did, and as he draped himself around me the first night of the new arrangement I realised that his closeness had an effect on me that was not confined to first waking. My second moment of revelation followed shortly on the heels of that first thought; Merlin was not exactly unaffected by our closeness either.

"Merlin..."

"Mmm." He pressed closer to me, tightening his grip as if afraid I would run away. Which I was seriously considering.

I put a hand on his shoulder, ready to push him away, but he drew back his head and gazed at me and even in the moonlight those eyes were enough to steal the breath from my lungs.

"We can go back, if you like," he offered.

He was a sorcerer - how could I forget that? This was surely a spell he had cast on me, for I had never looked at another boy as I looked at him and when I was with him all thoughts of what was honourable and right were trampled underfoot.

"Is this a spell? Have you used magic on me?"

He looked hurt then. "No," he said, and voice was very small. "I've never used magic on you."

"Promise me you never will."

I thought he would refuse - perhaps I imagined the sudden apprehension in his expression, as if he wondered whether I would hurt him without the protection of magic - but then he lifted his chin and stared at me and said, very softly:

"I promise."

There were words I might have said if I had been there with a girl but I could not bring myself to say them to Merlin. I touched him instead, tangling my fingers in his unkempt hair and tugging his head down so that his lips brushed mine.

"No one must ever know about this," I whispered when we broke apart again. "You mustn't tell anyone."

This time I was not imagining the hurt expression on his face. "All right," he said anyway.

"You do understand, don't you? If anyone found out..." I broke off, not wanting to contemplate the possible dire consequences if it was discovered what we had already done.

"Will..."

"What?"

He brushed the hair back from my forehead and smiled. "Kiss me again."

And I did.

* * *

“I can teach you to read, if you like,” Merlin said softly as we lay together in the wheat field the next day. Merlin had brought me my lunch and once we were sitting together, hidden from view, we had needed little encouragement to kiss and touch and hold each other. It was only afterwards, with passion spent, that it occurred to me how foolish we had been.

“Why would I need to?” I yawned, rolling onto my back to stare up at the perfect, cloudless sky.

“You could write to people.”

I looked over at him but he had his face turned into the pillow he had made from his shirt and I could not see his expression. I ran my hand experimentally down the length of his back, feeling the tension in every muscle.

“Merlin, everyone I know lives in Ealdor. My family are here.”

“All of them?”

He had never asked about my family before but I humoured him. “I have an uncle and cousins in Wresle.”

“Where’s that?”

I waved a hand in what might or might not have been the correct direction. “Three miles that way. My father fell out with his brother over their father’s lands and they don’t speak to each other. So you see, I don’t need to know how to write.”

“Oh.” He was quiet for a while, seemingly content to lie still while I ran my hand over his back, again and again, mapping out the lines and contours of him as if by doing so I could leave a mark on him that would never fade.

* * *

It seemed to me in those wonderful, terrifying first days that some kind of madness had afflicted me, for I yearned for Merlin constantly and even if he were not in my sight the slightest thing might remind me of him and fill me with a longing so deep, so overwhelming, that I could think of nothing else. Every waking moment that was not otherwise occupied with chores that must be done was spent with him and. as the days began to shorten again, Merlin and I found plenty of reasons to steal time together whenever we could. Three of the younger boys were now old enough to do some of the heavy work in the fields and this allowed me some respite from my constant labour. Once I was done for the day I could easily sneak away with Merlin, down to the river more often than not, and if Judith or Hunith ever suspected anything of why we were both missing so often neither spoke a word of it.

"Does Hunith know?" I asked him one evening as we lay sprawled in the grass watching the sunset, both as naked as the day we were born. I had been teaching Merlin to swim - not an easy task as he was so tall now it was easy for him to cheat and put his feet on the riverbed even in the deepest part. Though I had a threat to hold over him, more persuasive than any other - withholding what he wanted most was the best way to get Merlin to do something and he was remarkably compliant with my wishes if it meant he could touch me, if I would touch him in return.

"Know what?" Merlin rolled over to look at me and my heart skipped a beat, as it always did when he looked at me like that.

"That you like..." I waved a hand to indicate our naked state. "This. Boys."

"Oh that." To my irritation Merlin looked vaguely amused by my question rather than embarrassed. "Yes, she knows." He frowned for a moment with the effort of thought. “It’s not like I ever actually _told_ her, but she knows.”

"Not about me?" Horrified, I sat up.

He gave me a long-suffering look. "No."

It was getting cooler as the sun slipped below the horizon, and our clothes were still where we had shed them. I nudged Merlin in the side and he gave me another one of his looks and the next instant our clothes lay at the side of me instead. I had seen his magic before but it still made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up to see his eyes flash from blue to gold and back again.

Merlin yawned. "Let's not go back yet."

"It's getting late," I pointed out. "And cold."

Merlin leaned in, so close I could feel his breath on my lips. "Just a bit longer."

His hand ghosted over my hip, his fingers raising goosebumps in their passing. I shivered and reached for him to pull him close, all thoughts of going back already driven from my mind.

Sometimes when we did this we took our time. Long lazy afternoons under the summer sun, learning the ways of each other with a patience I would never have believed I possessed. But there were other times too, times when we came together in urgency, in desperation, and this was one of those times. Merlin's hand wrapped around me, my hand wrapped around him, jerking each other with ragged strokes until he spilled hot and sticky over me a heartbeat before it took me too.

"Do you think..." Merlin mumbled sometime later.

"What?" The front of me, pressed tight against him, was warm but as I came back to full awareness I was becoming more and more aware of how cold the night air was.

Merlin's lips pressed against mine. Brief and chaste. It still mystified me how Merlin could have the way of extraordinary innocence about him that he did, even after doing all that we had done together.

I opened my eyes to see him bring his hand up to his mouth. My breath caught as his tongue darted out to lick my seed from his fingers.

He made a face, and I laughed. "Not nice?"

"It's ... strange," he decided. He grasped my hand in his and brought that to his mouth too. Another flutter of his tongue; I shivered again.

"Well?"

Merlin grinned. "Yours is better." He rolled me to lie on my back and propped himself up on an elbow, leaning over me, watching me.

“What?”

“I like watching you,” he said simply, and then he kissed me and there was no need for words for a while.

“Come here tomorrow, after dinner,” he mumbled in my ear afterwards.

I mentally reviewed my list of chores for the next day. “I can’t. I promised Rosamund I’d repair her roof tomorrow.”

“There’s nothing wrong with her roof,” Merlin said slowly.

“Yes, I know.”

His hand found mine, a comforting warmth in the darkness. “Then why?”

“Because when I was twelve I let her pigs out as a joke and one of the stupid things ran into the river and drowned and she’s never forgiven me for it – and since she knows she can make my sister’s life a misery by accidently ‘forgetting’ to save her flour it’s easier all round if I do what she says.” It seemed ridiculous now I came to tell someone else. “It’s only a few hours.”

“You have enough to do as it is,” Merlin said, and his voice sounded tight. “How long has she been doing it?”

“Since my mother died.” I squeezed his hand in reassurance. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll do what she wants and that will be the end of it.”

“Until the next time.”

“Yes.”

I heard his breathing quicken. “It’s not fair.”

“No.” I rolled over and drew him close, determined to stir him out of his mulish mood. “Don’t worry yourself about her.” My hand tightened on his arm. “Don’t do anything.”

He was silent for a moment, long enough that I began to be concerned, but eventually he sighed. “All right.”

We lay together in silence for a while after that, content to hold each other until finally it became so cold that we were forced to get up and dress ourselves again.

"Think there'll be any dinner left?" Merlin asked. He was perpetually hungry; it was a mystery to me how he was still so scrawny.

"As if Hunith would let you go to bed hungry," I scoffed.

It was too dark to make out his expression but I could not miss the sudden tension in him. "I have done it before," he said defensively.

"Bet you complained about it."

Merlin's body tensed even more and it suddenly dawned on me that I might have gone too far. I could not think of a way to set it right, though, so I grabbed his arm and pulled him close and kissed him until he reluctantly began to respond.

"Let's get back," I told him when we finally separated.

Merlin nodded. He took my hand, which I took to mean he forgave me, and we set off back towards the village. It was too dark to make out the path but I had no need of light to find my way.

"Your magic could be useful," I said after a while. It was something that had been on my mind lately. "Useful for more than fetching my clothes, I mean."

"Useful?" Merlin sounded wary. "A good way to get me burned, more like."

"No," I said, even though I knew he was right. Just because I could accept it did not mean anyone else in the village would. Most of them would be running for firewood before Merlin's eyes had flashed back to their usual brilliant blue.

"Yes." Merlin sounded almost amused; he squeezed my hand, tugging me to a halt.

"This isn't getting me any warmer," I protested; in response his hands slid under my tunic, warm and teasing.

There was only one answer I could give to that. By the time we finally made it back to the village that night Ealdor was dark and still.

* * *

“Did they burn witches then?” Eldred asks, eyes huge and round with curiosity and horror at the very thought of it. Of all the things he has heard at my knee this seems to fascinate him the most.

Do not think for a moment I had been telling him every detail I set down here, my dear reader! He is far too young to know of such things, though these times we live in are not as pure as our pest of a priest might think and I am sure he will become aware of them sooner or later. No, I carefully censor what I tell him, but I think he knows more than I might wish regardless.

“Sometimes,” I tell him. “Magic was banned in most kingdoms, you see. Usually they burned the women. In the towns, with the men, they would chop their heads off. In the main square with everyone watching.”

He thinks about that while I potter around the room, searching out those manuscripts I need for research.

“How did they know they were witches?” he asks eventually.

“It was usually quite clear,” I lie, for he is also too young to know that the world is a cruel and heartless place and that most of the women I ever saw burned as witches were nothing of the kind. When times are hard it is the nature of man to seek out one to take the blame, and if that one is old and poor and has no one of influence to speak on her behalf then so much the better. I have not seen such a travesty for nigh on ten years and I hope never to see another.

“Couldn’t they just magic themselves from the fire?”

Gods have mercy, he inherits too much of his mother’s keen intelligence for my comfort! “Perhaps the flames took the magic from them.”

I expect him to pursue the thought. “I saw a man hanged yesterday,” he says instead.

“Oh yes.” I know the man he speaks of, a petty thief foolish enough to attempt to pick the pocket of the captain of the guards, but I do not know where his thoughts are leading him.

Eldred hesitates for a moment before he speaks, and when he finally does he glances at me with a certain wariness I have never seen on his face before. “He was not too much older than me. And he cried for his mother, before the end.”

“He was a thief,” I say patiently. “The law is the law, and must be the same for all men. He knew that and yet still he stole for his own gain.”

“If the law is the law then why did you not tell the others about Merlin?” he replies simply. “He was a sorcerer; he broke the law. Why did you say nothing?”

I can do nothing but stare at him foolishly. Out of the mouths of babes indeed! “Should I have done so, do you think?”

He considers that for a moment. “No. He was your friend, and you loved him dearly, and he loved you too. Of course you could not betray him.”

Something like a smile crosses my face at that. “I am pleased that you think I made the right choice.”

He smiles back at me, a child again. “Now will you tell me the story about Arthur and the Black Knight?”

I give him an affectionate swat. “You’ve heard that one many times. And I must work.”

“Please, grandfather?”

Admitting defeat, I settle myself in my chair. “Very well. But once and once only.”

I will go on with my tale once he is asleep!

* * *

I woke the next morning with my arms full of a warm and heavy Merlin who seemed determined to cuddle me to death in his sleep. I managed to roll us both over so that I could breathe again and promptly fell asleep again.

When I woke up for the second time the sunlight was streaming into the forge, along with the hushed yet unmistakable voices of Merlin and Hunith. They were outside the forge, round the back of it where they would not be seen, and speaking so quietly that I could not make out the words.

There was no mistaking the tone though; they were arguing. I sat up, a cold, leaden feeling coiling in my gut.

"I'm not a child!" I heard Merlin say. Whatever Hunith said in response was obviously enough to push Merlin over the edge; I was not surprised when the door was thrown open and Merlin stormed into the forge, his face flushed with anger.

I scrambled out of the blankets. Merlin did not acknowledge me; he went to the fire and began poking the ashes about with his boot, his face set in a petulant scowl. I was about to ask him what the argument had been about when Hunith appeared in the doorway. She was pale, but her face was as set as Merlin's.

Her eyes settled at once on me. "I want to talk to you."

"This is nothing to do with him!" Merlin said furiously.

"This has everything to do with him, Merlin," she snapped back, and I suddenly wished very much that we had thought to have two beds made up. I had no desire to discuss with Hunith what I had been doing with her son.

It dawned on me, belatedly, that Coll almost certainly already knew, or - if he did not - he had lost the gift of sight. We had hardly been discreet and the fault surely lay with me - and so any consequences must also lie with me.

"We'll talk," I said quickly. "Not here though."

Hunith gave me a considering look. "All right," she said.

"Will!" Merlin cried despairingly.

"It's all right." I tried to put conviction I did not feel into my voice. I did not dare touch Merlin in front of Hunith but I tried to put into my face what I could not put into words and Merlin seemed to understand at least some of that for he flushed again and sat down by the fire, still scowling mutinously but no longer arguing.

I dressed quickly. Hunith stepped outside to give me some privacy but she had left the door open and I did not dare say anything to Merlin that might be overheard.

I debated going down to the river, far away from the village, but we went into the woods instead, walking until we came to a small clearing far enough away that no one would overhear us and then Hunith sat herself down on a small boulder and looked at me thoughtfully.

I shuffled uncomfortably. Her quiet regard I could not stand. "Look, about me and Merlin..."

She cut me off. "This isn't about that."

Which confirmed my suspicions that she knew all about us but now I had a good idea what this was about and I wasn't sure I liked that any better.

"I won't tell anyone," I protested.

"Oh, Will..."

"I mean it, I won't." I tried to think of a way to convince her, something I could say that would stop her looking at me like that. "I'd never tell anyone."

"Never? You wouldn't get drunk and let it slip? And what if you fall out with him?" Her eyes were flashing with anger now, and I think that frightened me more than Merlin's magic ever had.

"I wouldn't hurt Merlin," I insisted. "Not for anything."

She was silent for a while, and then said softly:

"I'm thinking of sending him away."

When I could think of nothing to say in response she went on.

"It's not safe for him here. Some of them have noticed things already. And last night… He doesn't know how to control it."

A cold chill settled in my stomach. “What did he do?”

Hunith gave me a sharp look. “You know Rosamund, don’t you?”

 _Oh_. “Yes," I admitted.

“Somehow her roof _grew_ in the night, all over the door to the mill. Coll had to take an axe to it to get her out."

I choked back a laugh. “Is she- is she all right?”

“She will be when she stops having hysterics,” Hunith snapped. The urge to laugh was becoming painful but her next words killed my amusement stone dead.

“I know you two are very close, but this can’t go on. It _can’t_. It's better if he goes away. Now."

"He can stay here," I said mutinously. "I can look after him."

"Will..." She gave me a pitying look. "They're already talking about you. At the moment you're still both young enough that it might be innocent but that won't last. It's not safe for you either."

I flushed angrily but I knew she was right. The longer it went on the more chance there was of someone finding out - evidence rather than conjecture - and then we were both as good as dead.

"So where are you going to send him? Back to Deva?"

Hunith gave me a sharp look. "No."

"Where then?"

I was looking directly at her, waiting for a response, so I saw the way her expression changed, how her eyes widened in horror and all colour drained from her skin. I whirled round to see the unmistakeable sight of smoke rising over the trees.

We did not know it yet but the raiders had arrived in Ealdor.

* * *

The village was burning.

There was too much to take in, too much horror for the mind to accept. I had never seen a raider before but there was no mistaking what the men who rampaged through my village were. My horrified eyes could not take in the scale of it at the time; only later did I realise that they must have circled the village and fired more than one building so as to cause panic as the villagers tried to flee the flames. And they did flee; I saw Ebba running towards me, faster than I would ever have thought it possible for him to move, only to be hacked down by a powerfully-built raider who laughed as Ebba's life blood spurted over his tunic.

I ran too, but not away. All I could think about were my sisters, and Merlin. _Merlin..._

There were perhaps thirty or forty raiders running amok through the village; not many but enough of an army against its unarmed inhabitants. I took in only impressions of them, of notched, bloodstained swords, of faces blackened with soot. One lunged at me but I dodged the blow, coughing and gasping for breath as the thick, choking smoke filled my lungs. My foot slipped; when I looked down I realised that the ground was wet with blood.

A figure reared up and I instinctively moved to defend myself before I realised it was Coll. He was almost unrecognisable, smeared with blood.

"Hunith ... where is Hunith?" His hands were painfully tight as they gripped my shoulders.

"In the woods," I gasped, and prayed that I was right. Hunith had not wanted to stay under the shelter of the trees.

Coll began to drag me between the houses. "Come, then."

"Merlin..." I tried to pull away. "Judith ... my _sisters_."

Coll's hand tightened its grip still further. "There's nothing you can do," he said brutally. " _Nothing_. Come on."

I knew then, without him having to say it outright, that our house was gone and my sisters dead. I do not remember the minutes after that, only that the screaming in my head was louder than the screaming of the womenfolk as they were dragged from whatever shelter they had managed to find.

My world was ending.

Should we have fought them, even then? Sometimes I ask myself if that might have been better but there were only two of us and we had no weapons. To fight would have meant a certain death. Once I made as if to rise from our hiding place, when the raiders began killing the youngest children, but Coll pulled me back down and punched me so hard I saw stars.

"Survive," he hissed at me. "You must _survive_."

Dazed as I was, I still felt like a coward as we huddled in the shelter offered by what seemed to be the only two buildings not aflame and pressed our hands over our eyes to muffle the sound of the screams.

When at last we dared to take our hands away from our ears there was no more screaming.

There was nothing at all aside from the crackling of the flames.

"Where is Hunith?" Coll asked again and I dully indicated the area of the woods where I had left her.

"Come on then," he said, not unkindly, and pulled me to my feet.

And then I saw Merlin.

The raiders had not gone; they were gathered in the field we had used for the Beltane dancers, laughing and joking with each other as they drank our ale and cleaned their swords of our blood. But it was not them that drew my attention but the small - painfully small - group they held captive. Girls for the most part, but there was no mistaking Merlin's lanky form, stretched out on the grass and not moving. I might have thought him dead if it were not for the fact that Poppy was helping one of the younger girls to pillow his head with her shawl.

"Hurry!" Coll hissed. He had not seen Merlin and he was already on the move, dodging around the building and running with surprising grace towards the treeline.

I could have run. Run without looking back, away from Merlin, away from the graves of my family.

But I did not. Could not. I was done with cowardice and if I was to die at the point of a raider's sword then that was to be my fate.

I could not leave Merlin.

I squared my shoulders and walked out of my hiding place, towards the field where I had once lit the Beltane fires. Behind me, Ealdor burned.

* * *

Merlin had an agonisingly painful-looking lump on his forehead and I could not stop looking at it as we trudged wearily along a path I remembered taking once with my father, years ago. It led to the coast, eventually, but this time I had no desire to see the ocean.

I could still not entirely believe that I was alive. Perhaps the raiders decided they had not taken enough slaves, perhaps they simply wanted another body to help carry Merlin; either way, my life had been spared. For now.

We marched in single file. The girls walked ahead of Gavin and I as we carried Merlin between us, bundled in a blanket. Some of them cried, some of them only stared ahead with glassy and unseeing eyes. It was hard going and more than once either Gavin or I stumbled but whenever we did the raiders would strike us with fists or the flat of their swords and we quickly learned to regain our footing as soon as possible.

I have not spoken much of the raiders themselves. Even now I find it difficult to bring the memory of them that day to mind and my hand trembles a little when I write of them, though I can pretend to myself that is merely the product of my advanced years.

What can I say of them? We called them _Angli_ then, as the men of Rome had done before us; in these later days they came to be called _Angelcynn_. Their language was strange and guttural and I did not understand a word of it, while their dress was equally foreign to us. They came to our lands from across the sea, eager for plunder; for gold, goods and slaves, so I was in no doubt whatsoever that our future would involve being carried back to their homeland to eke out short, miserable lives in servitude. A fate I was determined to avoid.

But I needed to take Merlin with me when I escaped them, and he was in no state to flee.

Finally they called a halt to our march and Gavin and I were able at last to lay our burden down and then I was able to get a proper look at Merlin. He had not woken at all and I was getting worried about that.

"What happened?" I hissed to Gavin.

He only shrugged hopelessly. I had not noticed it during the march but he had been crying too, silently, and the tears had carved rivulets through the soot that covered his face.

"He's a sorcerer," one of the girls mumbled, and my blood ran cold.

"Of course he isn't."

"He tried to put a spell on them," another piped up. It seemed that the topic of Merlin was enough to rouse them from their stupor. "But then one of them hit him."

I prodded the lump on Merlin's forehead experimentally. He did not move a muscle. Which was not a good sign.

Two of the raiders were shouting at the girls, their meaning clear. The girls scampered to light a fire but I was already eyeing the raiders warily. I was under no illusions over what was to happen.

We did not eat that night. Gavin and I found ourselves bound hand and foot at one side of the clearing, tied back to back next to Merlin, who was not deemed worthy of being bound. Gavin clutched at my hand and I squeezed back as I shut my eyes tight and tried to block out the sounds from around the fire. Neither of us slept.

Many years have passed since that day but I still sometimes heard the screams of those girls in my nightmares.

Dawn found us cold and stiff and wet with morning dew but to my relief Merlin was finally stirring, blinking dazedly and then groaning in pain as he tried to lift his head.

"Don't," I told him softly, not wanting to wake the raiders, most of whom were still sleeping around the fire.

"What happened?" he mumbled, grimacing as he tried to rub his forehead and discovered the lump instead.

"The raiders came," I told him tersely and left it at that but it was too late; one of the few raiders who was awake had seen us and he came striding over to us. He was a tall, burly man, dirty blond hair tied into braids woven with silver rings that I had already deduced were some form of badge of honour to these men. He said something to me in their guttural speech and I shrugged to show that I did not understand.

He snarled and, before I could react, he drew his sword and brought the hilt down hard against Merlin's head with a sickening crunch.

" _Wik-ka_ ," he hissed, glaring at Merlin with real malevolence, and I did not need to know anything of their language to know what that word meant. _Sorcerer_. They knew Merlin could use magic. Perhaps that was the only reason they had kept him alive so far.

We did not rest for long in that place; soon enough we were on our way again. The girls were silent this morning, dead-eyed and unresponsive. I tried not to look at them. It was easier for me to concentrate on Merlin; I was desperately worried about him. He was as pale as death and another livid lump was forming on his forehead.

There is nothing much to say about that day. The going was arduous and us captives were given no quarter. None of us had eaten, nor been given water and two of the girls collapsed as the hours passed and we were driven on at an ever-increasing pace. The raiders despatched them without a thought, wiping their bloodied swords in the grass afterwards and laughing amongst themselves.

"Do you think they mean to kill us?" Gavin asked me when we rested that evening. We had left the forest soon after noon and we camped on open moorland stretching out to the horizon. I knew we were closer to the sea, and I wondered if we were near the raiders' boats and the point of no return.

"Maybe." I was watching our captors closely, for it was clear they were expecting something. Or someone. "Though they could have killed us back in the village if they cared to."

Gavin was quiet for a while. "Do you think anyone escaped?" he asked eventually.

I thought of Coll and Hunith. I could only hope they were many miles away by now. Safe. "Maybe."

"Maybe the king will come to save us," Gavin offered.

Memories of Eliffer and his disastrous campaign against the raiders came to mind. "Let's hope not," I muttered.

The sun was dipping low in the sky and without warning I felt the sting of tears for the first time since I had first seen the smoke from the burning of Ealdor. It was just such a sunset beneath which Merlin and I had lain together and the memory of that night - of Merlin's kisses, of Merlin's skin under my fingertips and his hands on my body, of the things he had whispered to me as we lay together - made my heart ache with loss. I angrily scrubbed the tears away. I would not cry, not in front of Gavin and not in front of the raiders.

One of the girls was crying, weeping as if her heart was broken. Perhaps it was. I deliberately did not look towards the source of the sound. There was nothing I could do to help her, or any of the others.

I had hoped that they might leave us unbound but it was not to be. One of them stirred himself from the fire and came across to us, crouching down to examine Merlin. When he was satisfied that Merlin was still deeply unconscious, he proceeded to tie Gavin and I together as we had been the previous night.

Gavin cried that night, trying and failing to stifle the sound of his tears. And if I cried too, hot, bitter tears trickling to the parched ground beneath my cheek, then there was no one to see it.


	6. Part Five

If I had thought that our captors were nothing more than a small, isolated war band, I was disabused of that in the most abrupt and unpleasant fashion the following day when we crested a low ridge to find an encampment of over a hundred raiders. They had clearly been there some time, for they had erected shelters and even a rudimentary pen for their horses.

My heart sank into my boots as all my plans for escape fell by the wayside. What hope was there of escaping an army like this?

I kept my eyes lowered as we made our way into the encampment, not wanting to attract any more attention than necessary. I was vaguely aware that we were being taken into the centre of the camp but I thought nothing of it until one of our captors barked a command at us and shoved me hard in the small of the back so that I fell awkwardly to my knees. Gavin had been shoved down too and between us we nearly dropped Merlin to the ground.

I stared determinedly at the ground before me as the girls were dragged away one by one. I was aware of a circle forming around us, of talking and laughing. A boot prodded me in the side, a hand pulled at my hair. I ignored both but inside anger blazed.

The chatter stopped abruptly; a pathway cleared through the circle and into that pathway stepped a man and finally I dared to look up.

Later I was to discover that this man was named Hwala, and that he was a kinsman of Icil, son of their king, but that day I saw only a scarred, fearsome-looking man with hair the colour of fire, not much taller than I but much more powerfully built. He was scowling down at us as if we had offended him personally, which perhaps we had. There was no doubt that he was the leader of these men, that they feared him. He addressed some question to our captors and one of them responded with more than a little wariness. I watched in some fascination, for it was clear that our captors were being berated for not returning with more plunder and it seemed the slaves they had captured were not deemed sufficient. Hwala turned away with a snort, and as he turned his gaze fell on us.

I looked away at once but it was too late; in two steps he was standing over us, his sword hanging uncomfortably close to my face. But it was not me he was looking at but Merlin, still unconscious.

A question was asked. There was another incomprehensible conversation above my head. I caught that word again - _wikka_ \- and I shivered.

Laughter rippled through the crowd; my blood ran cold. Were we to be killed? I had no idea what the raiders might do to a sorcerer, and those who consorted with them. I clenched my hands into fists but without warning my arms were seized and I was dragged to my feet. I tried to get free as two more of them lifted Merlin but my struggles were in vain; weakened by lack of food and water I was no match for two warriors and I could only weep enraged, helpless tears as they carried Merlin away to one of the shelters they had set up.

"Leave him!" Gavin cried and he leapt to his feet. The sight of him squaring up to Hwala would have been comical if it were not so terrifying.

"Gavin, no!" I shouted but it was too late.

Hwala's lip curled in disdain.

Gavin's mouth opened in shock but no sound came out. He fell to his knees, blood-smeared hands clutched to his belly.

Hwala watched him impassively, dagger held almost casually. As if nothing had happened, as if he had not just ripped the life from a boy who was no threat to him at all.

"No..." I pulled away from my captors and to my surprise they let me go this time, laughing as I scrambled to Gavin and pulled him into my arms, trying to peel his hands away so I could look at his wound. When I did finally manage to do so, I wished at once I had not. I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat and hugged him close, knowing that there was nothing I could do for him. There was nothing anyone could do for him now.

He died, eventually, his last breath an anguished sob. I clutched him tight and buried my own sob in his hair. I did not cry; how could I? Gavin was dead but at least he was free of them and I think I might have followed his example if it had not been for Merlin. Merlin who was - as far as I knew - still alive and who I was determined to take with me when I escaped these brutes.

When I looked up Hwala was watching me, his eyes considering. He said something, his tone derisive, and another ripple of laughter washed over me. He turned and said something to the man who stood behind him and there was a brief exchange and then something seemed to be agreed between them and the two who had held me before returned to drag me to my feet.

Gavin's body slipped from my grasp. My tunic was still smeared with his blood and rebellion stirred in my heart.

"No ... at least let me bury him!"

Someone laughed, and as I turned in fury to confront them the world abruptly went dark.

* * *

My head hurt so much it felt as if I had been trampled by a herd of donkeys. Or perhaps a warhorse; I toyed briefly with the thought that perhaps Eliffer Gosgorddfawr had stirred himself long enough from his marriage bed to come and rescue us before it dawned on me that one of the accursed raiders had simply hit me over the head.

I did not dare try to move my head, so convinced was I that the one who had hit me had shattered my skull. I brought a hand up instead, eyes still firmly closed, and tentatively explored. Expecting some hideous damage, I was relieved beyond measure to find my skull whole and unbroken and since I was obviously not on the brink of death I finally dared to open my eyes.

I too had been carried into one of the shelters, though it quickly became clear that it was not the same one as Merlin had been taken to earlier. I was lying on a pallet thick with furs, curled on my side with more furs layered over me. Going by the small amount of muted light filtering into the shelter it was almost dusk but I had no idea how long I had been unconscious; whether it was the same day or whether some time had passed. However long it had been the weather had changed; I could hear rain hammering against the roof and the air was cold.

I was warm in my makeshift bed and not particularly uncomfortable aside from my splitting headache and an unpleasant dizziness that had me reeling when I tried to sit up but it was not those ailments that left me dry-retching and shivering and blinking back tears like a child. While I had slept my captors had been busy and my neck was now encircled by a crude iron collar, the weight of it painfully oppressive now I knew it was there. I yanked at it, desperate to free myself, but they had secured it fast and I managed only to scrape the skin of my neck against it. Eventually I gave up and sank back into the furs.

Should I have been so surprised? It was what they did, after all. The raiders came to our lands for gold and for slaves; that had been drummed into me all my life. Yet now, with a future consisting of being dragged back across the sea to their own lands, and a short and no doubt brutal life of servitude there, I could not simply accept my fate and as I lay on that pallet I thought feverishly of ways I could escape, or ways I could induce them to kill me instead.

It was while I was lost in such introspection that the blanket hung over the entranceway was abruptly pulled back and a man entered. One of the raiders. He spared me only the briefest glance before turning to discard his sword and armour but there was something considering in his gaze that made me clench my fists.

I recognised him as the man Hwala had spoken to after he had killed Gavin. A confidante of Hwala's then. I looked longingly at the sword - thoughts of taking it up swirling in my mind - but reason told me I would collapse before I took a step towards it.

Perhaps he saw my expression, and realised what it meant, for as he turned back towards me he half-smiled and reached for a length of rope that had been coiled on the ground.

"No," I protested automatically, and shook my head, and instantly regretted it as the pain returned. I fell back with a groan, helpless to resist as he knelt next to the pallet and proceeded to rope my wrists together. I opened my eyes briefly to see him draw his dagger. At that moment I would have been very happy to die but it seemed he had no wish to kill me; he expertly cut the remaining rope into short lengths, binding my ankles together with one and running another from my collar to the centre post of the shelter.

I hated him. I hated all of them. For what they had done to those I loved and for what I was afraid he was going to do to me.

Except that he did not. Once I was safely immobilised, he rearranged the furs so that I was wrapped warmly again, grunted something I could not understand, wrapped himself in his cloak and left the shelter, taking his time to ensure that the blanket was properly drawn again over the entranceway. Left alone I tested my bonds, straining with all my might against the ropes until the pain in my head came back. Not that it was any use; I could not shift the ropes an inch. Giving up the unequal struggle, I drowsed for a while, trying not to flinch whenever I heard a woman scream or a roar of men's voices.

After a while there were no more screams.

My captor came back, long after dark. I was almost asleep by then, exhausted beyond the point of endurance, and I had already resigned myself to my fate when he knelt by the pallet and drew back the furs that covered me. His hand touched my head, unerringly finding the place where I had been struck, and I hissed as his fingers pressed against my skull and the sickening pain lanced through me again. He said something, low and soothing, and his hand withdrew. A kindness of sorts, though I was not minded to appreciate it. Kindness from a brute such as him seemed like an insult.

I felt him settle on the pallet and I tensed in expectation.

There were men still talking, outside. Laughing and singing, no doubt feasting on the fruits of their plunder. Boasting of their deeds, no doubt; congratulating each other on the slaughter of unarmed, helpless villagers. I would have hated them too if I had the strength to do so.

My captor was gentle as he shifted me over on the pallet to make room for himself but I still found myself biting back a groan as my head was lifted for a moment. Something was pressed against my lips, a flask of some kind, and I started to draw my head away but the way he tightened his grip brooked no argument and I resignedly opened my mouth. Whatever it was tasted foul, worse than brackish water, and I nearly retched but he patted my shoulder encouragingly and laid my head back on the furs and I hated him more than ever.

"I hate you," I told him. My voice sounded strange, distorted. "You've drugged me..."

He patted my shoulder again but this time I hardly felt it.

"I'll kill you..." And on those words I slipped into unconsciousness once more.

* * *

It was a cold and miserable day and my head ached so much I might have drunk my fill of ale the night before. It seemed fitting for my mood, and I huddled miserably in the furs, watching my captor sharpen his sword by the fire that did nothing to heat the damp little shelter. There was no sun today. The rain beat steadily against the roof of the shelter; the wind whistled through the gaps that had not been calked. It was hard to believe it was summer when I felt so cold, though not all of the cold was in my body.

In the light of day I could take the opportunity to get a proper look at my captor. He was older than I had thought, at least ten years my senior, if not more. His flaxen hair grew long, curling over his collar; his eyes were the colour of a stormy sky and it gave him a strange, washed-out cast, as if he had been bleached by the sun. He was powerfully built but he was no mindless brute – the keen intelligence in those sun-washed eyes as he had inspected my head wound again had left me uneasy, for it seemed likely that he would anticipate any plan for escape. I would have to think carefully, and choose a moment when he was off guard.

I had been outside once this morning; he was not so cruel as to deny me the most basic needs and he had untied my ankles, unthreaded the rope tied to my collar, helped me to my feet and led me through the camp so I could relieve myself with a small amount of privacy. I had tried not to look too closely at anything but I could not miss seeing the pale, wan figures flitting to and fro lighting the fires and setting to preparing breakfast. Slaves all, mostly girls but a few boys. None of them from Ealdor.

It had almost been a relief to return to the shelter. Almost.

"I hate you," I told him again.

He glanced over at me, and shrugged. Did it make it better or worse that he could not understand my words? I was sure my tone made my feelings clear enough. Yet, for all that, I was uncertain. I had woken still clothed, if uncomfortable from being bound, and I felt nothing physically untoward that might indicate he had misused me, but since my experience of such things was nothing but what I had done with Merlin I felt myself to be on uncertain ground.

 _Merlin_.

Where was he? Was he even still alive? I felt sure that he was, certain that I would somehow know if he was not. It was only the thought that he might still be alive that kept my own hopes alive. Somehow - somehow - we would escape.

As if he had heard my thoughts, my captor set his sword aside and rose to his feet. I managed not to flinch back as he approached and crouched in front of me but my bound hands clenched into fists again. If he noticed my reaction he gave no sign.

A hand on my head again, fingers probing the site of my injury. The pain was not so bad this morning and he seemed content. My head was pushed back, and he stared searchingly into my eyes as if looking for something and whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him. He let me go and leaned back, giving me my space.

"Agar," he said, placing his hand over his chest.

This, it seemed, was a peace offering of sorts. I was half-minded to ignore the unspoken question but the man - Agar - was watching me and I was reminded that he had, so far, been kind to me.

"Will," I said, grudgingly.

He nodded in satisfaction and patted my arm. Apparently my compliance pleased him, which made me determined to avoid being so accommodating in future.

Something that sounded like a question was directed at me, along with my name.

"I don't understand!" I snapped back in frustration. "What's the point of asking me things when I don't understand?"

He seemed to accept that, and left me alone for a while. Long enough for sleep again for a while. When he returned he brought bread for me - just turning stale but as fine as any feast to me. I ate my fill, while he sat by the fire and watched me thoughtfully.

"I don't do tricks," I muttered sullenly, uneasy under the scrutiny

"No," he said easily. "But I think you might try to escape."

There was shock, for a second or two, and then anger. He had lied to me, indirectly if not outright; he had pretended he did not speak our language - although his accent was coarse he spoke fluently and I could understand him well enough and he clearly understood me - and I told him what I thought of him in no uncertain words.

"You were beyond reason last night," he answered mildly, unmoved by my anger.

"Because you tried to break my skull!" I retorted. "And you could have told me this morning."

Something flickered across his face, gone so suddenly I might have imagined it. "It was not I who struck you."

He was not going to apologise, that much was clear. I hated him still more at that moment; there were so many things bubbling up in my chest that I could not put any of them into words. I clenched my fists as tears sprang to my eyes, determined not to cry in front of him.

He took pity on me then, or perhaps he liked to hear himself talk, for instead of remarking on my distress he told me of Hwala instead, of his position among their people, his influence. The warning was a clear if subtle undertone; Hwala could do as he liked and I would be a fool to try and defy him.

"He is a spoiled child; his father indulges him. He is cruel and will not hesitate to order your death if he chooses, if it amuses him. And he surrounds himself with those who think the same."

"Yet you have not killed me," I said mulishly.

Agar gave me a look that reminded me of Hunith. "Not yet."

I let that one go. "How is it that you speak our language?" I asked instead, partly as a diversion and partly because I was genuinely curious. The question was such that I half-believed he would not answer at all. Certainly he took his time in doing so.

"I learned it years ago. From a woman."

"A slave?"

He looked away. "Yes."

There was more there but it was a story I was clearly not going to hear today. I told myself too that I probably did not want to hear it; he had burned my village and killed my family and I wished to know nothing of him. He was my enemy, nothing more. Even if he had been kind to me.

"Less questions," he grunted, as if again he knew exactly what I was thinking. "They will get you killed."

"Perhaps I want to die," I muttered.

That amused him, to my intense irritation. "No. You would have done it already. You want to live." His eyes twinkled. "To kill me, yes?"

"Yes."

"Well then." He tested the ropes around my wrists. "Until I am sure you are not going to stab me in my sleep, I will have to keep you bound. To be killed by a slave is hardly a warrior's death."

"I hate you." It was said without heat but the smile left his face anyway.

"Go back to sleep."

"It's morning," I said stubbornly.

"It may be, but you need the rest."

"I'm not tired." It was a lie, and a foolish one. My head hurt and I felt sick again and going back to sleep sounded extremely appealing.

His hand was reaching for a familiar flask and my heart clenched.

"Not that." I would not beg him but my voice still sounded altogether too pathetic.

"Rest then," he replied patiently, and I gave in, lying myself back down on the pallet and wrapping the furs around myself as best I could with my bound hands.

And then, to my shame, I did sleep.

* * *

I was rarely ill as a child; blessed, my mother used to say. Certainly it had been many years since I had been as ill as I was in the days after arriving in the raiders' camp. Whether it was the blow I had been dealt or some pestilence caught from them I do not know but for three long days I lay fevered and insensible in Agar's bed, sleeping the sleep of the dead for the most part and wishing for a swift death for the rest.

Hwala came into the shelter once while I was awake, striding through the doorway as if he owned it. He spoke to Agar, loud and mocking, and at one point I saw the glitter of his dagger. I think I would have welcomed death at that moment but Agar said something and Hwala snorted derisively and sheathed the dagger once more. He did not visit again, not while I was awake.

Others came though; raiders like Agar, some barely older than me, who came to talk to him. There were slaves too, and they tended to me as well as to him. A girl with pale hair and dead eyes who brought me water and scraps of bread, and a red-haired boy who clumsily stripped me, washed me with water so cold I nearly shivered my way off the pallet, scraped the stubble from my cheeks, and then re-dressed me in clothes I had never set eyes on before. A raider's clothes. They were too big for me and they itched and irritated my skin but I was too weak to remove them myself.

I had never seen either of the slaves - the _other_ slaves - before and when I spoke to them, voice rasping, neither acknowledged me. Either we did not share a common language or - more likely - they had long since had what made them quick beaten out of them. I soon gave up trying to communicate. My throat hurt too much to keep trying to talk to those who would not talk to me.

Finally, on the fourth day, I woke and the light did not hurt my eyes.

"Feeling better, Will?" Agar asked easily from his usual place by the fire.

"A little," I admitted, grudgingly. I tried to sit up but I was as weak as a newborn lamb and I fell back twice before I finally managed it.

"Water?" He was already on his feet, heading towards me.

I sipped the water and tried not to look at him. He had not shared the pallet with me while I had been fevered; I do not know where he slept in that time. Now I was very aware of him, and I shivered as he held his hand to my forehead.

"The fever has gone. You'll heal."

There was no headache, and my throat no longer hurt. Perhaps it was a sign that I was not meant to die yet. I watched in silence as he went back to the fire and picked up a dagger from a pile of clothes on the floor. This was no simple work knife, that was clear. The sheath was intricately decorated and the blade itself was inscribed with a delicate, twisting pattern. Agar saw me looking at the dagger and held it out for my inspection.

I squinted at the pattern but my eyesight was still a little blurred. “What is it?”

“Artaios, a god of your people. I took it from a king.”

He did not elaborate, for which I was grateful. Instead he changed the subject:

"It is good that you are well again; we are to break camp tomorrow."

I looked up sharply. Break camp? That surely meant we were leaving for the coast, and the ships that would carry me away to their lands, never to return.

Perhaps Agar saw my expression; anyway, he laughed. "Hwala is in the mood for a fight. He says we don't have enough gold. We march inland again."

"Oh." I kept my eyes lowered but hope flared in my breast. If we stayed here - if we marched nearer to Eboracum - perhaps Eliffer would dare to venture beyond the city walls and fight. The raiders would be wary, focused on the threat an opposing army might pose, which meant they would be less concerned with their captured slaves.

And that meant there was a chance of escape.


	7. Part Six

The wind scythed through the blanket Agar had wrapped around my shoulders the instant I stepped out from the shelter. I had hardly ventured outside in days and I was glad that it was dark, because that meant I did not have to look over to the place where Gavin had died.

I could try and describe the raiders' camp that night but I am not sure I have the words in me to do so. If you have never seen such a thing, what would my words convey to you anyway? They were savages, those raiders - barbarians. They had been camped there for a week or more, with ale to drink and slaves to amuse themselves with, and they had certainly not stinted themselves on the pleasures of life. Or the horrors. The place reeked worse than a sewer pit; shit and piss and sweat and blood. Someone - probably the other slaves - had tried to bury the captives the raiders had killed within the camp but the raiders seemed to have a fondness for adorning their shelters with the severed heads of their victims. Some of those I did recognise.

And still the raiders were not sated; there would be worse done tonight.

Agar muttered at me to stop dawdling, to follow him, and I did, close at his heels as we picked our way through the camp to Hwala's fire. I kept my eyes lowered, ignoring the catcalls and whistles that followed us, but I was still jostled, more than once, and one even tried to grab my arm before Agar turned on him with a snarl and half-drew his sword.

"Stay close," Agar hissed. I nodded.

Somewhere in the darkness to my right a girl screamed. It was followed by laughter, men calling to each other. I clenched my fists, unseen under the blanket, and kept walking. Staying close to Agar, pretending I had not heard.

Agar stopped, so suddenly I nearly walked into him. We had reached Hwala's fire, and Agar was saying something that was probably a greeting before slipping easily into the last remaining gap in the circle of ten or so of the raiders. I hovered, unsure of what to do, before Agar seized hold of my arm and pulled me down at his side. The other raiders laughed, calling out remarks I was sure were less than kind.

"Calm yourself," Agar told me sternly as I flushed with anger. "They're looking for a reason to harm you."

He was right, again. Those sharp, vicious eyes turned on me from every side, just waiting for me to make a wrong move - I would not let them win. I took a deep breath, swallowed my pride.

"Good," Agar said softly, and he nudged me in the side.

They lost interest in me, after that, and I sat for a while glowering at my blanket and trying to make sense of their talk, though I soon realised that I could not make sense of a single word. I did not dare look at Hwala himself, sat directly in front of his shelter. Until, that is, I heard a very familiar word - _wikka_ \- and I looked up and my heart stood still in my chest because there, in Hwala's arms, was Merlin.

 _Merlin_.

Did I cry out? I am not sure if I did or not; either way Agar's hand tightened on my arm in warning, the only warning I was likely to get, and I managed to control myself enough not to rush to his side. I looked though, drinking in the sight of him like a man parched.

My initial delight at seeing Merlin alive faded a little as I began to take in the state of him. He was awake in that his eyes were open but one glance told me that he had no awareness of where he was or who he lay in the arms of. Even in the firelight I could see that his eyes were so dilated as to be almost entirely black and he looked out on the world without focus or indeed interest. He half-sat, half-lay in Hwala's untender embrace like a broken doll. Like me, he was wrapped in a blanket but unlike me he wore nothing beneath it save for a collar that matched my own, the blanket was wrapped carelessly around him, exposing his chest and a pale length of thigh. Not unmarked, I noted. There were bruises on his skin. Old and new. Blood too. And Hwala's hands were on him, one clutching his arm cruelly tight, the other pushed under the blanket over Merlin's hip.

Anger blossomed; I clenched my fists again.

"Eat something," Agar muttered darkly, and he forcibly straightened my fingers and pushed a chunk of meat into them.

I wanted to argue, wanted to protest that I was not hungry, that I would not take orders from him. More than anything I wanted to go to Merlin. But I recognised that this was not the time, that such disobedience in front of Hwala would likely see my death. I tried to push the anger away; later I could allow myself to feel it. Meanwhile I contented myself with watching Merlin whenever I could as I ate. The meat was tough, bitter with salt. I had to force myself to swallow every bite but when I was done Agar smiled at me approvingly. I scowled back and he nudged me in the side.

Hwala had been talking almost constantly while I ate. Agar was right; he did enjoy the sound of his own voice. The others occasionally got a word in but Hwala did not seem minded to listen to them much. Agar himself was mostly silent, though he sometimes spoke quietly to some of the other raiders.

Behind me the noise from the other fires was getting louder, the night more raucous. I did not look round. I tried not to hear the screams.

Agar took us off to bed early that night, and there was no mistaking the tone of what was shouted after us. I followed him back to the shelter with my head bowed and my eyes wet with tears and when we were safely inside I could not bring myself to do anything except stand there while he gently removed the blanket from my quivering shoulders.

"They will not harm you," he told me quietly.

"Why not?"

"Because they think you warm my bed."

I wished I could see his expression but it was too dark for that. "I do."

He laughed then, soft and low. "Not in the way they think it."

I wondered if he would make it true. I do not think I would have fought him, not that night. Not when the dreadful alternative was all too real and all too close to the thin sides of our shelter. I let him undress me, let him guide me down into the pallet, all the while expecting the worst ... and then he drew the furs up over me, bade me sleep and took himself off to the smouldering hearth. I watched him coax the fire back into life, watched him smile as the flame caught, and I began to shake all over again with something that was more than mere relief.

"You're not getting sick again, are you, Will?"

"No."

He came over to press his hand against my forehead anyway. A grunt of satisfaction told me I probably wasn't in any danger of dying of fever any time soon.

There was still the occasional scream out there in the night, interspersed with brutish laughter and sounds I did not dare identify. I wanted to cry and vomit and run and hide and fight them and make them suffer as their victims suffered and yet I could do none of those things and I huddled in my bed and clenched my fists so tightly my nails drew blood.

"Why do you fight with them? How can you?" The words slipped out before I could catch them back and I cursed as Agar's breath hitched and his body visibly tensed.

"Do you think I should not? Do you think I'm a coward?"

"No." I remembered how he had stood up to Hwala. "The opposite."

"Well then."

"But what they've done, what they..." I broke off, struggling to find the words to articulate the enormity of what they had done to me.

"What _I_ did, Will," he said, gently, and I hated him for that. "I am one of _them_."

"Do you murder children?" I shot back. "Do you, do you-"

"No." Agar cut me off before I could begin to list the atrocities. "But we are far from home, Will. Enemies all around. Your people would do the same to mine, if they could." He stopped, and sighed. "As for the rest ... Hwala promised them women. And ale and gold. That's what they fight for, and that's how he buys their loyalty."

"So why do _you_ fight for him?"

"He's my lord," he said mildly.

"He's a-"

His hand clamped down over my mouth, cutting me off abruptly. "No more, Will. Let us not argue over this. Unless you want me to put you outside with _them_."

Oh, there was no more effective threat he could make. Resign myself to agreeing with him, or be thrown to the wolves. It was not much of a choice, not if I was going to escape them, and take Merlin with me.

Because I would, I knew it then. I would be free of them and when I did go it would be with Merlin at my side.

And I would not look back. Not for a moment.

* * *

 

Godric, bless him, does not flinch from my tale, though it is clear he finds it difficult to bear. There are many things he could say. “It must have been difficult for you,” he says instead.

“To see Merlin like that?”

He shrugs. “All of it.”

We sit in silence before the crackling fire. A good fire this, made all the better by the fact that I am not the one who has to carry the wood up the winding stairs to my room!

“Would you have let him?” he asks abruptly, and I must once again push through the walls that time has erected around those difficult days and search for emotions long since lost.

“Perhaps.” I reach for my goblet and curse the infirmity that causes my hand to shake so. “Better him than the others.”

“It is better to die with honour than live on your knees,” he asserts.

“No it isn’t.” My retort is sharper than I intended; what does he know of such things, he who was born into rank and privilege and will never know how it feels to have to make such a choice? “All that matters is to live. To survive. Pride is worth nothing to the dead.”

Have I offended him? I cannot see his face clearly but after a painfully long moment he bows his head a little and says softly:

“Forgive me. I spoke without thinking.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” I assure him. “I am too old to hold grudges.”

He pours me some more mead, and we drink together.

“My father used to say that,” he says, after a while.

We rarely speak of his father, long dead now. “That it is better to die with honour?”

“Yes.” He takes a long draught of his own mead. “And yet he lived without honour and regained little in death.” He laughs a short, bitter laugh. “But he is remembered as a good man. A great warrior. Nothing less.”

“History remembers him well as the victor,” I say gently. “And is it not good that Eldred thinks of his grandfather as a great man?”

Godric looks at me solemnly and raises his goblet. “He does,” he says with such warm sincerity that tears spring to my eyes.

* * *

As quickly as it had come the summer storm was gone and the sun shone brightly on us once again. Hwala took this as a good omen, a sign that the gods approved of his action, and his mood was cheerful as we made our way westwards. Perhaps it should not have been so under the circumstances but my mood too was lightened, and not only because with every step I was putting distance between myself and the sea. Agar, as one of Hwala's closest advisers, had the use of one of the horses they had taken and I was allowed to ride behind him rather than walk like the other slaves. It was much easier going than walking would have been, though my lack of horsemanship caused me some considerable discomfort at first. I did not care about that; the more rested I was, the better shape I would be in to escape as soon as I had the opportunity.

I had no intention of missing that opportunity.

My most immediate problem was Merlin or, rather, Merlin's condition. I had finally found another slave, Rylan, who could understand me and it was my good fortune that he served Hwala himself, for he was able to tell me of the potion Hwala had him pour down Merlin's throat thrice a day.

"It gives him power over the sorcerer," Rylan had confided. "It binds his magic."

I privately thought it did nothing of the sort - as far as I could see the potion simply left Merlin's thoughts too scattered for any kind of directed magic; did not I know all too well what chaos Merlin could cause when his thoughts were scattered even temporarily? Back in Ealdor, in our hiding place by the river, it had usually been snapped branches, a river momentarily running uphill. Rylan would only admit to a few instances - a cracked goblet, a torn blanket - but I did not miss how wary he was of Merlin, how eager to be away from him.

There was a second potion, but that only seemed to send Merlin to sleep. Rylan said that Hwala preferred not use that if possible; apparently he preferred his victim to be at least a little aware of what his captor was doing to him. After that particular revelation I had vomited my breakfast into the grass as soon as Rylan left, to the amusement of the two raiders watching me from a cautious distance - cautious because Agar had already taken the flat of his sword to one of them for taking too much of an interest in me.

You may have realised by now that my feelings towards Agar himself had softened somewhat, though there were often still times when I despised myself for my weakness in that regard. However kind he was to me, however much he protected me from the others, he was still one of them and thus he was my enemy. I _had_ to remember that; without my hatred and my anger what was I? Nothing but a slave, resigned to his fate and mindlessly accepting whatever was dished out to him. It would be too easy to fall into the trap, and then I would never escape them. I would end up like Rylan, who scuttled around the camp each night, bowing and scraping and complying with everything they told him to do, as if doing so would save him from the inevitable tumbling. Rylan, who helped Hwala drug Merlin. Rylan who would surely go running straight to Hwala if I told him a word of my plans. Rylan, who would never dream of even _trying_ to escape.

As we moved westwards I saw plenty of signs of the raiders' first foray - ruined villages inhabited only by ghosts, fields left untended, the occasional unfortunate remains of one or more of their previous victims. To my relief we did not pass near Ealdor; no, my heart quickened as I realised that Hwala had set us on a course towards Eboracum.

"Does he mean to attack the city?" I asked Agar on the second night. We had camped for the night on the outskirts of a ransacked village and it was not unwelcome to huddle under the furs against Agar's warmth and pretend I was not painfully aware of what Hwala was doing to Merlin not ten paces away.

"No." Agar pinched my arm, the usual indication that he wanted to sleep and thus I was to be quiet. I ignored it, as I usually did.

"You don't have enough men to attack Eboracum."

"So you're a soldier now, are you?" he replied irritably, but then he sighed and I knew I had won out. "He doesn't mean to attack Eboracum."

"What, then?"

"If I tell you, will you let me sleep?"

"All right."

He sighed again and muttered something in his own language before going on. "He wants gold. He thinks that if he marches on Eboracum, then Einion will give him gold."

It sounded ridiculous to me. "But Einion has enough men to fight him; why would he give him gold?"

Agar's voice was maddeningly patient when he replied. "Einion has sent many men south. His remaining army at Eboracum is small. Small enough for him to be scared of us, at least."

That made even less sense. "Why would he do that? Are there others of you?"

Agar snorted in amusement. "No. But he thinks there might be."

It took me a moment to work it out - in my defence I was very tired - but when I did I could not help but be impressed by Hwala's cunning. Tricking our king into sending the bulk of his army away from Eboracum left the city vulnerable and, yes, I could see that Einion might very well be tempted to bribe the raiders to leave.

"He'd be a fool to pay, of course," Agar went on, almost conversationally. "Pay this year and Hwala will want more next year. Land as well as gold." The last was said almost as an afterthought.

My throat went dry. "Land?"

Agar pinched me again, harder this time. "Go to sleep," he said, and this time there was no arguing with it. I closed my eyes and tried to follow his instruction but it was a long time before I finally managed to fall asleep. I had been given a vision of the future and it was not a happy one.

* * *

Two days after that we camped for the night within sight of the walls of Eboracum. Our camp was at the summit of a low hill; the plain stretched away to the city. I had never seen a city before and so my first sight of it took my breath away. Bisected by the fast-flowing river, the settlement was dominated by the towering stone walls of Einion's castle and the heavy fortifications. It was a formidable place indeed, and I did not see how Hwala could even think to challenge such power, even if there were few soldiers to defend it.

“Hundreds of people, living like rats,” Agar said dismissively when he saw my interest but even that could not dent my awe. When Agar was not looking I slipped away and climbed a tree to get a better look at the city, until one of Hwala's men shouted something at me and waved his sword. Recognising the threat, I climbed down but the brief glance I had been allowed had told me enough. The city was fortified well enough, but there was no sign of any army of any size to defend it. Agar was right; they were defenceless.

“What do we do now?” I asked as we sat down to the evening meal. Fresh beef, and the less I thought about how it had been obtained the better. You might think that I should have been accustomed to the sight of violent death by then but the truth of it is that to this day I have no stomach for it. To live out one's ordained life and die peacefully in bed is the best a man can hope for; better that than the undignified sprawl of an empty vessel that has had the soul ripped from it in the cruellest way. However great the man, however dignified and moneyed he may be in life, in death all are reduced.

“We wait,” Agar said, chewing on his own meal.

“For what?”

He kicked my ankle in warning; Hwala was watching us. Too late, for Hwala addressed something to Agar that did not sound complimentary. I stared determinedly at the ground. I had already seen what happened to one of the girls who had dared to answer back to Hwala and I had no desire to share her dreadful fate. Agar replied, his tone conciliatory, but by the sound of it his words did little to placate Hwala.

My heart clenched. I was going to die, and Merlin would be left with this brutish man.

Agar cuffed me round the head; it probably looked worse than it was but it was still hard enough to make my eyes water. A hand settled on my arm, pulling me up as he got to his feet.

“Come on. And not a word if you value your life.”

I did value it, and so I was quiet as Agar led me away from Hwala's malicious gaze.

“You are more trouble than you are worth,” he told me grimly when we finally halted in a shallow dell, still close to the bulk of the raiders but sheltered from direct observation.

I squatted down on the grass and regarded him quizzically. “What did I do?”

Agar rolled his eyes at me and went off to investigate the other end of the dell, where a small stream flowed. Left to my own devices, I went back to considering my escape plan and so engrossed did I become that I actually jumped when Agar returned. That made him smile, and as he sat down at my side it seemed his humour had improved a little.

“How much time should we leave it, do you think? I would not want rumours to spread if I was to only take a little time to bed you.”

I blushed furiously as the import of his words sank in and that, too, made him smile.

“Then again, I would not want him to think you are so worth bedding that he fancies you for himself.”

It got worse. I was torn between embarrassment and nausea at the very thought of it. “Is that what he wants?”

Agar gave me one of his looks. “Not yet.”

Because he had Merlin for entertainment, of course. I glanced up at the ridge in case we were being watched, but there was no one there.

We sat there for a while in companionable silence and then, unprompted, Agar began to speak to me of his home and in his voice I heard his love for it and I wondered why he would leave it and cross the sea. Not for gold; I knew him well enough by now to know that. Nor for glory; I could see the respect he commanded amongst the raiders and I knew he had nothing to prove to them. Only his loyalty to Hwala then, and that was not borne out of any love for the man.

“If I set you free...” he said unexpectedly. “Would you go back to your village?”

I had to think about that; my instinctive reaction was to answer in the affirmative but the harsh reality followed quickly after – Ealdor was burned and without Merlin there was nothing left for me there.

“No.”

“Perhaps you would fight for your king instead?”

“My father did that.” I had not spoken of my father for a long time and the words were bitter on my tongue. I could not bear to speak of the circumstances of it and it seemed Agar understood for he asked no more questions and eventually he rose to his feet and signalled that we should go back.

I kept my head down as we made our way back through the camp. Hwala smirked and called something to Agar that sounded and almost certainly was crude but Agar only smiled politely and pushed me down to his bed roll.

“Not a word,” he muttered to me as he sank down at my side. “And at least try to look a little sore.”

I blushed again, hating myself for it, but I took his point. “I could cry a bit, if you want.”

Agar snorted. “If you do, I will take the flat of my sword to you. Now sleep; it will be a long day tomorrow.”

I seemed to spend far too much time being told to go to sleep by him but now was not the time to rebel. He had kept me safe for another night and I would not disobey him now.

There would be time for that, later.

* * *

Just as Agar had predicted, Einion had no desire to fight the raiders without the bulk of his army. The very next morning an emissary rode out from Eboracum and Hwala was clearly minded to play the role of gracious leader, for he spent an inordinate amount of time preparing himself for the meeting and when the messenger was eventually allowed into his presence Hwala sat on a low boulder as majestically as he might have done on the grandest throne. Merlin, I noted, was also on display, half-sitting, half-lying on the ground at Hwala's side, a leather strap wound through his collar and held in Hwala's hand. Someone – probably Rylan – had cleaned him up and dressed him but those small dignities only served to accentuate his dulled eyes and the livid bruise across his cheek. The last made my fists clench – Merlin was hardly in any condition to resist Hwala and the unnecessary violence seemed all the more cruel.

Einion's messenger was a short, scared-looking man who reminded me of nothing more than a startled rabbit. The massed ranks of raiders jeered when he spoke and he went very white and shook but at least he did not run away. Agar took pity on him eventually and bid him welcome and translated for him when Hwala spoke. It all sounded dull to me but under cover of the talk I managed to work my way round to the side of Hwala's temporary throne, close enough to take Merlin's hand. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch; he did not react but I told myself that he knew it was me touching him and was comforted by it.

“Tell your lord we will meet him at noon,” Agar said loudly, and I quickly let go of Merlin's hand.

The messenger nodded, and bowed, and scurried away as if all the hounds of the otherworld were after him. The raiders jeered him but they left him untouched. They had their own honour, tarnished though it was, and they would not break the truce.

The passing of the hours before noon was tortuously slow. Left to my own devices – Agar was deep in conference with Hwala – I lurked for a while in the hope that I could touch Merlin again, perhaps even speak with him, but there were always too many eyes on me and I did not dare.

I went back to sit in our bedrolls after a while. The raiders were engaged in their usual pursuits – drinking copious amounts of whatever they had been able to plunder recently, shouting insults at each other, inflicting whatever indignities they could think of on their slaves – but I noticed more than one carefully painting a mark on his body. Thanks to Agar I knew what that was: the mark of Tyr, their warrior god. Agar had the same mark engraved into the hilt of his sword.

From time to time one of the raiders would look over at me but none of them approached me. Agar came to find me just before noon, jerking me abruptly to my feet and propelling me towards the dell.

“Keep yourself out of trouble.”

“I'm not going,” I objected.

Agar frowned down at me. “It's the safest place for you.”

“Does that mean you think we're going to be attacked?” I had intended to go on but I broke off abruptly as I suddenly caught sight of the small party that was advancing towards us under the flag of truce.

Agar must have seen my shock. “What is it?”

I shook my head, screwed up my eyes to get a better look, convinced that I was imagining things. But I was not – there was no mistaking who rode at the head of the column: Eliffer Gosgorddfawr, the man I held responsible for the death of my father.

I told Agar, omitting that last point, and he snorted and went to tell Hwala. I stayed where I was, watching intently as Eliffer's party drew near. When Agar returned he poked me in the side.

“You are to come with us.”

“Why?”

Agar shrugged. “Hwala thinks you might be useful. If you know him.”

“I don't-” I stopped; I was being foolish. “All right.”

Merlin was being pushed up onto Hwala's horse by two of the raiders. There is no other way to describe what they were doing; Merlin was near insensible and he slumped against Hwala's back once he was in place.

“He's going to fall off,” I hissed at Agar, gesturing towards Merlin.

Hwala shrugged. “That might be the best thing for him,” he replied dryly, but he called something across to Hwala anyway. After some discussion they ended up tying Merlin into the saddle, which was no more dignified but at least meant Merlin was not going to crack his skull open.

The meeting place was not at the encampment, but on a small stretch of marshy ground next to the river, a place almost equally equidistant from the camp and the city. I rode behind Agar, second in line behind Hwala. There were three other raiders with us but I still felt painfully exposed on that open plain. It was a ridiculous feeling – I was in far more danger in the raiders’ camp – but it was there nonetheless.

My heart was in my mouth as I looked upon Eliffer once more. He was still as handsome as ever, but I saw him with different eyes now and what had once seemed glorious now seemed to me to be little more than a mask to cover what lay beneath. I wondered if he even cared that men had died for his foolishness.

Agar and Hwala dismounted and strode forward to meet with Eliffer, while the other raiders remained in the saddle. None had a sword drawn but there was menace in the air nonetheless. I knew that one spark would set forth an inferno.

Taking a deep breath, I slipped down from Agar's horse. A herald who looked to be younger than me spoke in a wavering voice, a long list of Eliffer's titles, of Einion's. He had to stop regularly to allow Agar to translate, and his voice became more and more uncertain as Hwala's evident scorn mounted with every word. Meanwhile I made my way over to Hwala's horse, feeling faintly ridiculous, and stood awkwardly at the side of it, my hand on Merlin's leg. His skin was burning hot even through his clothes and I wondered if he was coming down with a fever.

When the herald finally ground to a halt Agar began to speak for Hwala. The names meant nothing to me; I presumed they might mean something to Eliffer. Not that the prince was paying much attention – he was staring over at us with something more than casual attention.

“What is he?” he asked suddenly, cutting Agar off mid-sentence.

Agar looked at Hwala but replied without bothering to consult with him. “Just a slave.”

“A fearsome one, clearly.” There was something strange in Eliffer's voice. He was still not looking at Agar, nor Hwala, but rather at Merlin and I.

“He's a sorcerer,” Agar said equably after a moment's hesitation.

Eliffer's eyes widened at that; perhaps he was afraid of sorcery for he quickly looked away and they did not speak of it again.

I will not recount the negotiations – they were protracted and dull, being prefaced as they were with another long recital of deeds and titles on both sides and made more tedious than they might have been otherwise by the necessity of translating every word. I watched a family of swans gliding serenely down the river and tried not to shuffle too obviously but despite my boredom I still listened with half an ear. Eliffer was as arrogant as ever but he was surprisingly accommodating to Hwala's demands. There would be gold, but Eliffer pleaded for time to comply.

“We must bring it to the city first. Not all of it is held in Eboracum.”

When this was translated Hwala scowled. “Perhaps we should take it ourselves,” Agar translated his reply. "My patience is running out."

Eliffer's eyes flashed with anger. He did not like that suggestion. “We will bring it to you. That is ... my father's wish.”

I judged that to be a good time to move from my position at Merlin's side. No one paid me any attention as I shuffled towards Agar but I kept my head lowered all the same as Agar translated for Hwala.

“I have no interest in your father's wishes.” Agar translated Hwala's response without inflexion but Hwala's sneering tone had already brought a flush to Eliffer's cheeks.

“We will bring the gold to you," he said coldly. "By first light tomorrow.”

Hwala thought it over for a moment and then nodded curtly. He remounted and rode away without a backwards glance and Eliffer flushed violently again at the snub. Agar shrugged apologetically and pushed me towards his horse as the other raiders mounted in turn and rode after Hwala.

“Come on.”

I risked a glance at Eliffer. He was already turning away. If he recognised me at all then he was good at hiding it. There was to be no easy escape. Resigning myself to biding my time for escape, I followed Agar.

* * *

“Something is wrong.”

I glanced up at Agar but he was not looking at me. He was staring into the fire, his brow furrowed. Instinctively I looked round to see if anyone was watching but the other raiders were too engrossed in their food to pay much attention.

“What do you mean?”

Agar did not reply at first. He glanced across at Hwala, who had Merlin on his knees, a hand on the back of his neck forcing his face down into the grass. The sight was enough to make me want to stab something and I quickly looked away.

“Tonight, I want you to go back where we were earlier. Stay there until I come for you.”

I frowned; that didn't make sense. “On my own?”

“Yes.” His hand settled on my thigh and I felt the press of something else. I glanced down and froze. He was giving me his knife.

“Wha-”

“Take it,” he hissed urgently. “Take it … keep it hidden. Use it if you have to.”

"He-Hwala will kill me if he sees me with this," I objected.

Agar cuffed me lightly. "Take it."

My fingers reluctantly closed on the sheath. The leather was soft, well-used. "Aren't you afraid I might stab you with it?"

"You've had many opportunities to kill me," Agar said mildly. "And yet I live still."

Hwala was done with Merlin; he got to his feet, grinning as he refastened his trousers, while Merlin lay in a crumpled heap on the ground. I could see Rylan loitering, perhaps waiting for instructions, and suddenly I could bear it no longer.

"Let me go to him."

Agar looked at me, confused for a moment until he understood my meaning. "No."

"I'll go, I'll take him with me." I hated begging him for anything but I could not leave Merlin where he was, half-naked and smeared with blood and dirt. Sooner or later Hwala was going to tire of his captive sorcerer and when he did Merlin was as good as dead. "Please."

Agar shook his head at me but rose to his feet and called something to Hwala. There was a brief exchange and then Agar spared me a glance.

"Go. Hwala wants him cleaned up. Take him to the stream."

I did not need telling twice. Tucking the dagger into my trousers I scurried to Merlin's side, keeping my gaze averted from Hwala. I knelt at Merlin's side and tried to get my hands under his arms.

"Come on, Merlin..."

He was light, heartbreakingly so, but he was tall enough to still be unwieldy in my arms as I tried to drag him to his feet. I was debating with myself how I could possibly get him as far as the stream when Rylan appeared at the other side of him, taking his share of Merlin's slight weight.

"I'll help you with him."

I did not want his help, not really, but there was no helping it. I nodded. I was aware of Agar's eyes on me as we set off, half-carrying, half-dragging Merlin between us, but I did not dare look to him.

With Einion’s surrender to their demands seemingly complete, the raiders seemed to have thrown caution to the wind even camped so close to the walls of Eboracum; perhaps secure in the knowledge that Eliffer had no warriors they were happy to feast and drink and fight among themselves as easily as if they were safe in their faraway homesteads. The campfires were blazing hot, hot enough to make the sweat stream down my back, but my fury, my desire for revenge, burned hotter than any flame.

Perhaps fortunately for both of us, the dell was dark and quiet. Rylan helped me carry Merlin to the banks of the stream and then I told him to go back.

"Can you manage, on your own?" he asked dubiously.

"Agar will come and find me," I told him, with more confidence than I felt. I had no idea what Agar's intentions actually were. "He won't want you here."

Rylan nodded, perhaps assuming that Agar intended to make use of me. I was aware of him fumbling for something; as he knelt down at Merlin's side my hand whipped out to seize his.

"What are you doing?" Even as I spoke the words my exploring fingers had found the vial he held.

"I have to give him this."

"No." I forced myself to take a breath. "I won't be long. You can give it to him when we come back to camp."

Rylan hesitated for several painfully drawn-out moments before he finally nodded and got up again. "You're sure you can manage on your own?"

"Yes. Go."

Left alone, and sure that Rylan was in fact heading back to camp, I knelt in turn at Merlin's side. It was too dark for me to see much of him but I still had my sense of touch and, by working slowly and carefully, I managed to wash the worst of it from him. The water from the stream was freezing cold but Merlin barely stirred. Once he was as clean as he was going to get I carefully explored those long limbs, testing for broken bones and letting out a breath I had not realised I was holding when the search proved fruitless.

I was at a loss as to what to do now. It was getting cold and I managed to re-dress Merlin as best I could and pull him into my arms. I had no idea how long Agar wanted me to wait in the dell; after a while I grew tired of sitting up and I managed to work myself into a more comfortable position, Merlin's head pillowed on my shoulder.

And it was in that way that, somehow, I fell asleep.

* * *

 

“How did he know?” Eldred demands, frowning. “How did Agar know that there was something wrong?”

I have had many years to ponder that myself and to this day I still do not know the answer. “Some instinct, perhaps,” I said, giving the best response I could. “He was a warrior of much experience, which means he had experience of not dying. How does the hunter know that prey is near? Instinct has much to answer for.”

He ponders that, perhaps relating that to his own training as a knight. It is his birthday next month, and he will be eleven years old. His present is locked safely away in my desk, awaiting the day when I will proudly present it to him.

While we talk together, his mother sits by the window; to the casual eye engrossed in her embroidery she may be but I know her well enough to know that she is listening to my tale as carefully as her son.

“Do you too think I should not tell him such things?” I ask her when Eldred takes his leave of us. One of the other boys has a new falcon, a gift from his absent father, and I know Eldred will be gone for some time.

She sets the needlecraft aside, taking her time to reply. “I think you are careful in what you do _not_ tell him,” she says at last. The look she turns on me is soft with a pity I cannot bear. “Perhaps it is easier for you not to speak the words.”

“The passing of years makes it easier,” I tell her gruffly.

She smiles, the living image of her mother when she does so. “Of course,” she says gently, accepting the lie. She rises gracefully to her feet. “Shall I fetch you some more of that draught, for the pain?”

“Not yet.” The draught the physician brews for me brings blessed relief from the bone-deep pain that has become my constant companion yet I cannot allow myself to sink into the soporific state it offers. I have more to tell, and with every passing day I grow more and more aware that I have little time left in which to tell it.

And so we go on.

* * *

The voice was insistent, demanding my attention and dragging me from the blissful depths of sleep.

"Will, wake up."

I groaned and tried to turn over, only to find that I could not.

"Will, come on; wake up."

I opened my eyes to darkness and for a moment I was confused until I remembered where I had fallen asleep. It seemed I had not slept too long; the skies were still dark and the morning dew had not yet settled but it had been long enough for the ground to become painfully uncomfortable.

I stretched, and the pain that occasioned brought memory flooding back.

"Merlin?"

He was half-sitting, leaning over me. I could feel his breath warm on my face. "Sssh."

"What's the matter?"

His hand grasped my arm. "Listen. Horses." His words were slurred; obviously he was not entirely free of the effects of the concoction Hwala had been giving him.

I listened. And my blood froze, because over the muted sounds of the raiders still carousing around their campfires I could hear something else.

Thunder that came with no storm.

Horsemen.

"They're coming across the plain," Merlin whispered.

"It's not possible," I said numbly. "There's no army in Eboracum ... it can't be..."

But it was, and the evidence was in my ears and in the rumbling of the ground beneath me because the army that could not be had reached the raiders' camp. There was screaming and shouting and the crash of steel against steel; I shut my eyes and pressed my face into Merlin's shoulder and tried not to hear it.

"We have to go," Merlin mumbled.

"No..." I was clutching him tightly, hard enough to leave bruises.

"Will, we have to go." Merlin's hands tugged at my shoulders, coaxing me to get up. "Quick, _now_."

There was no one to see our flight but it would surely have been a strange sight if there had been; Merlin barely dressed and still unsteady on his legs, me moving like an old man, the two of us seemingly locked together with our arms tight around each other as we staggered along the bank of the stream, as quickly away from the massacre behind us as our legs would take us. The going was rough and more than once one or both of lost our footing and stumbled.

"Which way?" Merlin wheezed as we crested the low ridge at the far end of the dell.

"Just keep going," I gasped. "Follow the stream."

"It will take us to the river," Merlin objected.

"Then we can follow the river to Eboracum," I said firmly. "Come on."

I wanted to rest - more than anything I wanted to rest - but I could still hear the fighting behind us and I knew we were not yet safe. We had to keep running, and there was no time to look back.

* * *

Years later, in the telling of the tale of our escape, I would blame Merlin for us losing our way that night. Merlin never contradicted my account; he would only smile and nod his head and go along with the fiction but the truth is that it was my fault and my fault alone. I should have known better, should have realised that navigating across open country on a moonless night was something that required my full attention. As it was, I became distracted while thinking of whether Agar might still be alive and once we had lost sight of the stream we could not seem to find it again, even though Merlin swore he could still hear it, right on the edges of hearing.

We were lost, and it was still hours until first light.

"We’re lost, aren’t we," Merlin mumbled against my shoulder as we sprawled on the cold ground. I had not wanted to stop but we were both exhausted and I recognised that if we did not rest neither of us would endure.

"No, of course not," I lied. “Rest for a while.”

He dozed off after that and I was not far behind. I dug my nails into the palm of my hand, the sharp pain temporarily warding off sleep. I would not - could not - allow myself to fall asleep.

The wind was getting up; it came from the sea, cold and biting. Merlin's skin was near-frozen to the touch and I pulled him closer, trying to cover as much of him as I could with my own body, very aware that it was not enough. Neither of us were in good health after our days of captivity and Merlin had suffered most. We needed shelter, and food and warmth and all the things we were not likely to get any time soon. I faced a simple choice: remain where we were and risk Merlin slipping into a deeper sleep from which he would never awaken, or press on and risk him exhausting what little strength he still possessed.

Sighing, I nudged him out of sleep's embrace, hating myself for my cruelty when he moaned piteously and tried to curl himself into a tight ball. It took me several attempts to coax him to his feet and even when I finally succeeded he swayed alarmingly.

"Merlin, you must keep going for a while. I'll find us somewhere to rest soon but for now you must keep walking."

He nodded, though I do not know if he truly understood to what he was agreeing. I took a firm grip on him, arm around his waist, and determinedly set out once again.

The ground was soft underfoot, sometimes treacherously so. I told myself that this was a good thing; it would be more difficult for horsemen to follow us over marshland and I wanted to put as much distance between them and us as possible before daylight. So far there had been no sign of pursuit but I would not be easy in my mind until we were far away.

I have no clear memories of the remainder of that night, only vague recollections of the clinging cold, the scrape of breath in my lungs, the bone-deep ache that went beyond pain in my legs and back and arms. It seems to me that my conscious mind largely ceased to function within a very short time, my awareness limited purely to the need to keep placing one foot in front of the other and the importance of holding Merlin tight so he did not fall to the ground. Finally, just before dawn, I admitted defeat to myself and sank down, bringing Merlin with me. I had no strength left to prepare us any kind of proper bed; I wrapped myself around Merlin as best I could and surrendered at last to oblivion.

* * *

Waking the next morning was surely one of the most unwelcome and unpleasant awakenings of my life. I was freezing cold, hungry, thirsty, and each and every abused muscle and sinew chose that exact moment to protest the previous night's work. The agony of it all made me whimper and curl onto my side, hugging my knees to my chest.

Which, of course, was the moment I realised that Merlin was not there.

I sat up, heart racing, and as I did so I realised three things: Merlin was sitting on the ground not two paces away from me; that two paces marked the extent of my vision, for a thick, impenetrable fog had descended on the plain; we were hopelessly lost.

"Merlin?"

He did not acknowledge me. I got to my feet and approached him warily. He was breathing - a good thing - and his eyes were open and staring into the fog but there was no sign that he even knew I was there.

"Merlin?"

He flinched. I did not dare get too close; I crouched down a half-step from him and we sat in silence for a while. I tried not to stare at him. In the light of day he looked worse than I remembered, dried blood crusted on his face where I had not thought to wash, a mottled pattern of purple and green across the exposed skin of his neck which I knew would be repeated on the skin I could not see. All reminders of Hwala, of what he had done. I felt sickened just looking at it; I could not begin to imagine how it must feel to Merlin.

"We should get moving," he said, eventually.

"In this fog?"

"At least no one can see us." He sounded calm, almost reasonable.

"We could go round in circles and we would never know." We had been taught that as children - fog was dangerous and, it was muttered darkly, there were _things_ that lurked in fog, lying in wait for the unwary and the foolish. Better to stay in one place than be lured to a terrible fate.

Merlin shrugged. "Better than staying here. We don't have any food."

As if I needed reminding. My stomach was so empty it was a distinct physical pain. "All right. But if we get lost it's your fault."

He looked at me then, and smiled a little. "Come on then," he said with forced cheer.

It was a little easier going this morning; the ground was not so soft and I think we made better time even though it was impossible to know for sure. It seemed to me that the entire world had melted away; it might have done so for all we knew. If I glanced behind us I could see our tracks in the grass but there was nothing else to base our course on, nothing to aim for or judge distance from. Even the sun was obscured.

"Where shall we go?" Merlin asked after a short while. "Still to Eboracum?"

"I don't know." My greatest fear was that Eboracum might have fallen, improbable though that might be. "We could go back to Ealdor."

I do not know what made me suggest it but Merlin's reaction was immediate; he stopped dead, his body stiffened and he would not look at me.

"Why? What would be the point?"

"We could..." I trailed off, biting back my words. Burying the bodies was the respectful thing to do but it was probably not what Merlin needed to hear.

"I don't want to go back there," he said flatly.

"Not even if it means seeing your mother-" I broke off again, because it suddenly dawned on me what an idiot I had been. Seeing Merlin's expression, I hurried to correct my error. "Hunith is alive, Merlin. I know she escaped it."

Of course I did not know for sure, but Merlin did not need to know that. The smile he gave me then was the only genuine smile I had seen from him since the raiders had come to Ealdor.

"She’s _alive_?"

"Yes, she was still in the woods with me when they attacked. And Coll survived too. They might be in Ealdor now."

Merlin sank to his knees, his face hidden in his hands. I turned away, giving him his privacy.

"Thank you," he said eventually, his voice very small.

"Don't thank me; I should have told you sooner."

He laughed, a strange, strangled sound that made me flinch. "I don't think I would have understood it if you had told me sooner."

"Still."

He got to his feet so quickly, so silently, that I flinched again when his hand caught hold of my arm.

"Thank you," he said again, and there was no doubting the sincerity in his eyes.

His touch - somehow so much more intimate than the close embrace we had shared in the night - was having a familiar and predictable effect on me. I cursed inwardly. After what had happened that was the last thing Merlin needed to see. "Let's get going," I said gruffly.

"Yeah." Merlin seemed reluctant to move, as if there was more to be said between us, but he followed readily enough when I set off again and kept pace with me more easily than he had done before.

It was still impossible to see much further than a few paces in front of us but the ground underfoot was changing from soft grass to harder, rockier ground. I tried desperately to recall the path we had travelled with the raiders; I still had no idea which direction we were walking in, whether we were headed towards safety or greater danger.

"Don't suppose your magic is any good for finding the way?" It was said casually but Merlin still flinched.

"I-I don't know. I don't know how to, anyway."

"Right." I glared at the fog, as if I could make it dissipate through willpower alone. "Isn't there some way you could learn?"

Merlin made a half-amused, half-exasperated sound. "No." A heartbeat later: "Mum said it was better if I didn't try to learn. She said I'd only cause more trouble for myself."

"Would have been useful to get us out of this, though." I frowned. The ground was rising and the way was becoming harder; we were climbing. I could only hope that in doing so we would climb out of the fog.

"Might have helped when the raiders attacked," Merlin said quietly, and I cursed myself again for starting such a dangerous line of communication.

"Don't worry about that. No one could have stood against them."

"I did."

The simplicity of it, the quiet confidence, brought me up short. I turned to look at him again and I think I saw him - really saw him - for the first time at that moment. Ungainly, awkward, flushed with exertion and a little fever. A changeling child.

A _sorcerer_.

"I could have stopped them, I think ... one of them knocked me out."

I took a breath. There was something there, something in the very air around us. Something at the edge of my consciousness that remained elusive however much I tried to capture it. "Just how powerful are you?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

He met my gaze and his eyes flashed gold and the world slowed around us and that too was familiar; my body stirred again at the memory of the other times he had done this, minutes stretched to hours, the two of us cradled in a cocoon of time.

"Merlin..." I croaked, though I could not bring myself to go on.

"Is this what you want?" His hand closed on my arm again and, yes, I wanted him. Wanted to touch and hold and possess the whole of him, the part of him that was Merlin and the part that was something else entirely. Yet somehow even through the frenzied fog of lust and need I was still able to see my path; the eyes that gazed at me were dark with desperation rather than need.

"Not here, Merlin..."

He stopped. A moment on nothing and then the world was right again. I managed a shaky, shallow breath.

"Come on."

He nodded, and we set on our way once more. But it was a long time before I was able to still my trembling limbs.

* * *

It is true that over a short distance a man will always outrun a horse since two legs make man much more manoeuvrable than beast. It is also true that over a distance it is the horse that will win out, both in speed and in stamina, a lesson that apparently Merlin and I had not learned well enough.

Where once we had limped we now ran, as best we could over the uneven, rocky ground with that accursed fog still thick around us. We had not had sight of the sun all day; I was sure it was past noon but without the sun there was no way of knowing for sure. And now we were pursued, and we ran without thought to where we were going because all that mattered was getting away. Once Merlin fell, skinning his bony knees on the rocks. I yanked him back to his feet and he ran on with blood trickling down his legs.

I had no reason to gloat though; all it took was one mis-step, one loss of balance, and I fell too. The path we had taken skirted a sharp edge and it was over that than I now went, tumbling head over heels down the slope until I was brought up short by a jolt of pure agony spearing the length of my leg from ankle to hip and I collapsed to the ground winded and sobbing with the pain of it.

I could not move, could not breathe. I was aware of noise and movement above me, next to me, but it was only when Merlin's hand cupped my chin and gently turned my face from the ground that I realised that the fool had followed me over the edge.

"Will, are you all right?" he said frantically.

"Oh yeah, I'm great-" I bit back the next few angry words as another wave of pain coursed through my body. "I think I've broken my ankle."

Merlin cursed, and began fumbling with my boot. I kicked at him with the other leg.

"No... If you take the boot off now it'll never go back on once the ankle's swollen up."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Help me up." It was idiotic, futile; we had been losing ground to our pursuers before I managed to injure myself. My only hope was that the riders might not realise where we had disappeared to.

Merlin helped me stand. Leaning heavily on him, I tried to put weight on my injured ankle and nearly passed out from the pain.

"You can't go on," Merlin said.

"What choice do we have?" I snapped back, scrubbing away the tears that had spilled down my cheeks. "I'm not staying here to be killed."

Somewhere in my headlong fall I had lost Agar's knife. It would not have been much of a defence against warriors sent to kill us but the weight of it had been a comfort of sorts. I almost sent Merlin to look for it but checked myself in time; losing sight of each other in the fog would have meant disaster for sure.

And so that was how we came to go on: what a sight we would have been if there had been anyone to see - the stooped lanky boy flushed with fever, supporting the shorter boy who could barely walk. A fearsome pair indeed.

I do not know how far we managed to hobble. More than fifty arduous steps, I am sure of that but soon after I lost count, too dazed and numb with pain and exhaustion to care. My body was betraying me; every part of my body screamed to me to stop, to rest, to let myself sink to the ground and sleep a blissful sleep. But I knew, with chilling certainty, that if I let myself fall once I would not rise again.

"We must rest," Merlin gasped. I did not even have the energy to turn my head to look at him but he sounded as exhausted as I was.

"No..."

Another step, and then another. My uninjured ankle was almost as painful as the other and every awkward movement was agony.

"Will, we must..."

I sensed it a moment before it happened and I was already twisting my body, grabbing hold of his arm to break his fall as he slumped to the ground. I could not keep my balance, even against his slight weight, and I half-fell, managing to twist myself away so I did not land on him. I could not save myself as easily though; as I landed my ankle was wrenched to the side and my choked cry was lost as the darkness rushed in.

* * *

The moon was very bright that night. I had already decided that the gods must hate me - for what crime I had not yet decided - and that seemed to set the seal on it. The fog that had so hindered us had vanished while I had slept oblivious and if I rose to my feet I could see clear across the plain to the river, a shimmering ribbon of silver to show us the way.

While we, of course, were exposed to the view of anyone who wished us ill. This worried me less than it had only a few hours ago.

I took a deep breath of night air, filling my lungs with the sweetness of it before I turned once more to face the horror behind us.

I had no words to describe it then and even with the passing of so many years I find myself struggling to find words for it now. How can a mere mortal man describe the destruction wrought by magic wielded in desperate fury? I can only say that what had once been a party of six knight pursuers was now nothing more than a few charred remains and - most horrifically - the petrified silhouettes of man and horse charred onto the scorched earth itself, so exact in detail that I could easily tell that those men had not been raiders. I could not take my eyes away from the awful evidence of their destruction, for it brought home to me for the first time what had truly dwelled amongst us in Ealdor for so many months.

I went back to Merlin, after a while. He was curled up beneath an oak tree, fast asleep and snoring a little. At peace. Unfevered.

I sat myself down, facing him, my back against the trunk of another tree and stretched out my legs, flexing my ankles as I did so.

No lancing pain, no crack of bone.

I brought my hand up to my neck and rubbed the chafed skin where the collar had once rested. There was no sign of _that_ , nor of Merlin's.

I held up the scrap of cloth I had taken from the knights' gravesite and peered at it. The moonlight was so bright it was almost as good as sunlight and I had hoped that I might be able to tell who these pursuers had been but the red cloth and the remnants of gold embroidery I could see hardly enlightened me as to their allegiance. They were most certainly not Einion's colours and I could not think who else might be following us.

Whoever they had been, they were dead, slaughtered, and I was uninjured, and the cause of it all slept as innocently as a child.


	8. Part Seven

Two days later we emerged from the woods and looked again upon Ealdor with some trepidation, not quite knowing what we would find.

The reality of it was very different to all my imaginings. Ealdor was not abandoned, nor burned to the ground. More of the villagers had survived the raiders' attack that I had thought possible, and by the time Merlin and I returned they had set themselves to work and buried the bodies of the fallen, repaired what they could and discarded what they could not.

It was almost - _almost_ \- normal.

They came at us with sticks and knives at first, until they drew closer and recognised us, and then there were greetings, and tears, and a gentle arm around my shoulders drawing me to where my home had once stood. I stood and looked at the scorched timbers and debris and wondered how I should feel.

"I'm sorry, Will..."

It was Aine who held my arm, an old woman who must have been gone from the village as I had been. She often went into the woods to collect mushrooms and roots and it had kept her safe on the day the raiders came. She petted me like a small child but I endured it because it meant I did not have to speak with Merlin. I knew he was nearby, hovering just out of my direct eye line, but he had learned to be wary of me and he did not come near.

When I closed my eyes I could still see those terrible silhouettes.

Coll and Hunith had survived, as I had been sure they had, and there was an emotional reunion between them and Merlin. I stood aside, not knowing where to look. Hunith came over to me and hugged me like a lost child but then she drew back and looked at me carefully and she paled.

"What did he do?" she whispered.

I did not tell her then, only shrugged and spun some tale about our escape that bore little resemblance to reality. Merlin listened wide-eyed, and I hoped he was remembering the details because I was not sure I would.

Hunith looked from me to Merlin and back again and I do not think she believed much of it. She kept silent though, and the others seemed to accept it. I did not feel proud in what I did - at least when speaking of the deaths of those taken I spoke truth - for my words brought bad news to many, an end to hope.

When I was done my head ached and my throat was dry. I turned from their tears and their cries and I walked away.

* * *

The rain began to fall as I stepped over the threshold of what had once been my home.

I remained there a moment, unmoving, and then I fell to my knees in the very centre of the charred ruins and I turned my face to the sky and let the rain wash away the bitter sting of tears.

* * *

Time passed, although it meant little to me. All around me life went on but I had no care for it, no interest in anything save for what must be done. After that first day I did not go near the ruins of my home.

Women, I think, have an inner strength that belies the weakness of their sex, a power I wished I possessed. The women of Ealdor mourned their dead just as I mourned my family but their grief was turned outwards, and they comforted each other and collected flowers to weave into offerings to the mother goddess and weakness became strength. But a man may not show such weakness and so I walked very much alone.

Three weeks after we returned to Ealdor, Coll accosted me as I returned from the river, where I had been fishing all afternoon, and invited me to share some ale.

I was touched by the gesture, grateful for his tact and for his quiet, undemanding company.

"You have been quiet, these last weeks," Coll said easily as he sat himself down at my side and companionably offered me half of the bread he had brought.

I stared into the empty hearth. I could not bear to see a fire lit, not yet, and Coll was tactful enough not to have laid a fire. "We've been busy."

It was as much an understatement as his words had been. In three weeks we had all worked harder than any of us had worked before; building, repairing, tilling, thatching. It would be worth it, in the end. We had shelter now and soon we would have a harvest. It would be hard, for a year or too, but Ealdor would survive.

Coll nodded. "I thought it was hard the first time they came. But this ... it will be hard, Will."

"We'll manage."

Another nod, then; "Hunith wants to send Merlin away."

I nearly dropped the mug of ale I was holding. "What?"

Coll pulled nervously at his ear. "She says ... well, she says it's for the best."

"Did she say why?" But I knew, I already knew. Hunith knew what Merlin had done. She had been thinking of sending him away well before the raiders came and that would only reinforce her belief.

Coll shrugged. "You know Hunith ... she tells you what she thinks it best for you to hear and no more. She thinks you're a bad influence," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Me?" I was startled by that, because Merlin and I had exchanged less than ten words over the last three weeks. "What have I done?"

Another shrug. An answer was clearly not going to be forthcoming. I wanted to ask whether it was purely because I knew about Merlin's magic but since I was not sure whether Coll knew or not I judged it best not to say anything.

"She can't send him away ... where would he go?" Just the thought of Merlin leaving, alone, made me feel sick.

Coll yawned and got to his feet. "Hunith knows best," he said with finality, and with that I was left alone once more.

* * *

Unlike many of the houses the forge had not been too badly damaged by axe or fire and once Coll and I re-thatched the roof timbers it was sound enough. Coll and Hunith had slept there at first, until Coll and I built a new home for them, and then it had become mine alone. It was comfortable enough but it felt painfully empty at night, when it was just me wrapped in my bedroll. It unsettled me to realise that I had grown used to sleeping next to Agar's bulk; even more unsettling was that I could not help wondering whether he was still alive, whether he had escaped whatever had happened before the walls of Eboracum. Part of me hoped he had. But no news of the raiders came to Ealdor and after a while I convinced myself that I did not care.

On the twentieth-fifth day the rain came, and that evening I was just settling myself down beside the banked fire I had been finally forced to light when the door creaked open and I looked up to see Merlin standing in the doorway.

We had not talked much since our return, of course; that you already know. I was not oblivious to him however, and I knew he had been sleeping - when he _did_ sleep - in a makeshift bier between the animal pens. I also knew that he ate sporadically and spent much of his time chopping wood - although, knowing him, I suspected that was less arduous for him than it might be for anyone else - and that he had spoken to no one except Hunith of what had happened in the time since Ealdor had been attacked, and even then I was almost certain that he had not told her all of it.

"Hey," I said, quietly so as not to startle him.

"It's raining," Merlin said, unnecessarily. He was drenched; hair plastered to his head, clothes stuck to his skin. He was also shivering and blue with cold and I frowned in concern.

"You're soaked; come and sit by the fire." I hesitated, unwilling to go too far. “I’ll find you some dry clothes.”

“Your clothes won’t fit me,” he said dully, after only the briefest moment of uncertainty, but he did take a step closer to the fire.

“Then I’ll get you a blanket but you should get out of those wet clothes.” I got to my feet, moving as carefully as I could. “I can go to your mum’s, if you don’t want me here.”

“No.” He forced a smile, not particularly convincing, and started to peel off his jacket.

I fetched him a couple of spare blankets and then turned away to give him some privacy while he finished undressing. Only when he called my name did I turn round, and even then I very carefully did not look at him.

“Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

I could not help but notice that he still did not look entirely comfortable and he had made sure to sit on the opposite side of the hearth to me, wrapping his blanket tightly round his shoulders as if for protection. As if he was the one who had anything to fear. It would almost have been amusing if not for the look of abject misery on his face.

"You did a good job with the thatching. It's not leaked at all." His voice was dry, cracked. I silently indicated the flask of ale by the wall and he gave me a grateful look and took a swig from it.

"You can finish it, if you like."

"It's all right." He half-smiled at me, and I was relieved to see that it was a genuine smile this time. "I'm not that thirsty."

It eased the awkward atmosphere, somehow, and we sat in comfortable silence for a time, while the rain drummed on the thatch above our heads.

"Mum wants me to go away," he said eventually.

"I know. Coll told me."

Merlin was frowning and twisting one hand against the other. "She says ... well, she says I need to learn how to control my magic."

"How are you supposed to do that?" It came out more harshly than I meant and I cursed myself as he flinched.

"She knows someone who can help me. She says if I go to Camelot-"

"Where?" Panic bloomed; all I could think of was Merlin going away, lost to me for ever.

Merlin looked flushed, almost fevered, but his voice was steady. "Camelot, the kingdom of the Peak. It's to the west, away from the coast."

"She wants to get you away from the raiders?" None of us had yet discussed it but we all lived with the unspoken knowledge that the raiders would come back. Ealdor might be lucky next year, then again it might not.

"She wants to get me away from _here_." Merlin's voice was almost gentle but no less devastating for it.

"Because of me." I picked up a stick and poked angrily at the fire; it was either that or hurl something across the room.

Merlin was quiet for a while; when he spoke his voice was so soft I had to strain to hear. "I have to go, Will."

"Why?"

Thunder cracked, somewhere in the distance. "I have to. It's not safe. _I'm_ not safe."

"You saved our _lives_ -" I began angrily but Merlin cut me off with a wave of his hand.

"And I don’t know how. I don't know what I did. I ... don't _know_. And I have to. I have to know."

Merlin had killed our pursuers; no, not just killed – he had obliterated them from the face of the earth. Merlin had healed me and healed himself. Death and life and a power more terrible than anything I had ever known. And he had no idea how he had done it.

Grudgingly, I had to admit that he had a point. But the thought of him leaving, of watching him walk away from Ealdor, was excruciating.

"Well then,” I said as cheerily as I could manage. “I'll come with you."

Merlin's head snapped up; his surprise was almost comical. "You ... what?"

"I'll come with you," I repeated.

"But you can't!"

"Why not?" My mind was already engaged in the practicalities of it, of what would need doing before I left. "We can leave the day after tomorrow, if you like. I need to finish re-settling that last hive first."

"What about the harvest?" Merlin asked uncertainly.

"They can manage." No need to add that there were so few fields left intact that those who remained could easily take in the harvest without our help. It would be a hard winter, sure enough, but there was still stored food that had been well hidden that the raiders had not found and there was game in the woods. "The hardest part will be next year, and we might be back by then."

"But you..." He faltered for a moment and then recovered. "Will, you have land here, you have-" He stopped abruptly.

"I have nothing," I said gently, for he looked more devastated by his slip than I felt. "My family are dead ... what is there for me here?"

"You could take a wife," Merlin said doggedly. "You should."

 _You sound like my mother_. I ruthlessly crushed the words before they could be spoken. "I'm not ready for that," I said instead. "Coll can look after the land until I return. You and I will go to this Camelot, you can learn how to control your magic, and then we can come back here."

"I suppose so." Merlin still looked unconvinced but I was sure he would come round to the idea eventually.

"You'll see, it's for the best." I grinned at him and settled myself down more comfortably. After a moment Merlin nodded and settled himself down too.

I fell asleep that night to the sound of rain tapping gently on the thatch above my head and if I wondered where the storm had gone it was only for the briefest of moments.

* * *

Four days, Hunith had insisted our journey to Camelot would take, but she had seemingly not considered Merlin's habitual clumsiness in her reckoning and we lost hours the first day retrieving Merlin's pack after he slipped and let it fall into the river. The current took it and carried it swiftly away and it took what seemed an age for us to first catch it up and then to guide it close enough to shore that Merlin could carefully clamber down onto the rocks at the water's edge to retrieve it.

It will perhaps not surprise the reader to learn that in reaching out for his pack Merlin promptly lost his balance and fell into the river after it. The vision of his startled face as he surfaced - dripping with water, hair soaked and plastered to his head, those ridiculous ears of his more prominent than ever - caused me to laugh so hard and so long that I feared for my continuing breath, and then I had to help him out and he waited until I was unbalanced myself before giving my arm a short, sharp tug that sent me tumbling into the water after him.

I surfaced, spluttering with outrage and cold and bubbling laughter, to see Merlin grinning at me as if I was the most amusing sight he had ever set eyes on.

"What?" I asked indignantly.

Merlin looked down, apparently contrite, and I made the mistake of lowering my guard, only to find myself drenched all over again as he sent a well-aimed armful of river water in my direction.

"You'll regret that," I told him when I had finally stopped coughing.

Merlin only grinned cheekily. "We'll see." He stuck his tongue out at me and I took the opportunity to get my revenge and after that there was no going back.

I still smile now when I think back to that day; for a short while we were nothing but what we had once been, two boys laughing and whooping like children as we splashed each other with river water as if neither of us had a care in the world.

We did retrieve the pack, eventually. We were a good way down the river by then and I laid out our soaked clothes and the contents of our packs and then we sprawled on the grass and ate the bread and honey Hunith had packed for our lunch. Fortunately it was a warm, sunny day and in no time at all we were dry again, if not a little unwilling to move.

"How far have we come, do you think?" Merlin asked sleepily.

I sat up and squinted upriver, mentally judging the distance. "I don't think we'll be too delayed. We needed to cross the river at some point anyway."

Merlin rolled onto his front and gazed across the river. We had come far enough that Ealdor was no longer in sight but I knew he was looking for it.

"There's still time for you to go back," he said softly.

"No!" The words were out of my mouth even before my mind had time to fully process what he had said. "I'm coming with you."

"Ealdor is your home," he said flatly. "It's not mine."

It was as if a cloud had passed over the sun; his dull, flat tone made me shiver. "Of course it's your home."

He turned those eyes on me then and, the gods help me, I wanted to touch him so very, very badly, to kiss those sweet, full lips, to feel his mouth on my skin once again. Just the two of us, come together on warm grass, caressed by the sun and the soft breeze beneath the endless cradle of blue sky.

I reached out a hand.

"Merlin..."

 _Please. Take this. Take me. Be mine. Like it was before._

He held my gaze for a moment and I wondered if he could hear my silent plea and then he looked away and my heart broke.

"No."

"Merlin, I'm not-"

"No!" And he was on his feet and his clothes were in his hands and he was half-dressed before I had even managed to stand. His back was to me but I could see his fury in the very way he held himself.

"I'm sorry," I said, and it sounded hopelessly inadequate. I look back at my younger self now and I shake my head at my own foolishness, my blindness to Merlin's feelings while being so absorbed in my own, my over-eagerness to return to what in innocence we had shared. But I was only seventeen then and though we think ourselves so wise at that age in truth we are not. I had no experience to draw on, no weapons in my armoury to fight against the monsters tearing at Merlin's soul.

He had gone where I could not follow.

Merlin pulled his shirt over his head and began tying his neckscarf. "You can't just _make it better_ , Will," he said quietly without looking at me and perhaps his sorcery had touched me deeper than I had realised for I somehow knew in that instant that I would never again touch Merlin as a lover would.

After that we walked for hours that afternoon in silent, separate contemplation, until the sun dipped low in the sky and it seemed prudent to find a resting place for the night. I chose a spot as sheltered as I could find and Merlin took himself off to collect firewood while I looked to see what I could scavenge for our dinner.

There was something about the warmth of a merrily crackling fire, full bellies and half a skin of ale each that eased the tension between us and when I passed him his share of dinner Merlin even smiled at me. A small, hesitant smile admittedly, but a smile nonetheless and the sickening coldness in my heart thawed a little.

"Do you ever think about them?" he asked abruptly as we finished off the last of the rabbit I had trapped.

"Who?"

"All of them." Merlin's voice was very small.

I shrugged with a nonchalance I did not feel. "Sometimes."

"Do you think we should have gone back to the camp? To rescue the others?"

"Are you insane?" I stared at him in disbelief. "Merlin, we were lucky to escape with our lives!"

He hugged his knees to his chest, face shuttered. "I know," he said dully.

Merlin's words had led me down a path of thought I did not want to take. You may think me heartless and perhaps it seems as if I was but the fact of the matter was that I knew that once I allowed myself to think closely of all that had happened there would be no return. I could think of things one by one and for the shortest while - a flower in the woods might remind me momentarily of my mother, for instance; walking a particular path might remind me of Poppy - but I could not begin to indulge myself in memory. My discomfort made me thoughtless, and my next words were hardly guaranteed to soothe Merlin's own disquiet:

"Did you _want_ to go back to the raiders?"

I could have kicked myself for saying it but even that embarrassment paled into insignificance when Merlin did not storm off or shout at me or turn me into a toad or anything he had the perfect right to do but merely turned his head away and whispered:

"No."

"Well then."

The minutes ticked by, the silence broken only by the crackling of the fire and an occasional rustle in the undergrowth. Merlin looked ... broken, and my own helplessness in the face of that nagged at me and I could feel my temper rising and I could not sit there and contemplate the ruin I had made of our friendship.

"I'm going for a piss."

Merlin did not even acknowledge me as I got to my feet. I deliberately turned my back and walked into the trees, not stopping until I was a good distance away. Once I was sure I was out of sight I sank to the ground with my back against a tree trunk and closed my eyes.

My excuse to Merlin had been just that; my body had other, far more immediate needs. Once upon a time I would have been happy for Merlin to see the evidence of it but that time was long past and this was what I was reduced to: sliding my hand into my trousers, touching myself and pretending it was Merlin's hand touching me instead. My mind could easily supply the images and sounds and sensations I wanted to see and hear and feel; Merlin's face, open and happy and smiling his delight in me and what we did together, Merlin's eager mouth on my body, Merlin's soft whimpers as I pleased him in turn.

I came with his name a whisper on my lips and stinging tears in my eyes.

* * *

Years before, when my parents had still been alive, my sister used to tease me for my inability to leave an argument be. A picker of scabs, she used to call me, and it was a good analogy for I never knew when it was best to stop.

I suppose you could say the ability to leave well alone was something else I had learned the hard way.

We did not speak directly of what had been said the previous night; indeed, as Merlin and I continued our steady progress westward we did not speak of much besides the most desultory conversation but we could not avoid it forever and for once it was not me who raised an awkward subject.

"How did we escape from the raiders, Will?"

"Don't you remember that night?" I deliberately did not make eye contact with him; I was still not entirely sure how much he remembered of his time with Hwala and I had no wish to tell him if he did not remember much.

Merlin frowned. "I remember you washing me. The water was freezing."

"Sorry about that," I deadpanned, and he smiled.

"After that ... I don't really remember anything until I woke up and we were in the fog."

I wondered again what concoction Hwala had been giving him, that it seemed to have taken so much of his memories. Perhaps that was for the best. "We ... slept. You woke me up. There were horsemen. We ran. You know the rest."

"Who were they, the men who chased us?" Gods, he had surely learned from me! Such persistence, when he must surely know he would not like the answers!

"I don't know. It was dark." I thought back to the meeting that day before the walls of Eboracum. "Perhaps Eliffer's men, I don't know."

Merlin's hand tugged at the collar of his shirt. "You said he was a coward. Eliffer, I mean."

I winced. "Yes, he is. He was."

Merlin was silent for a while and I thought his questions might have run their course but as we were rising to our feet to be on our way he spoke again.

"What happened to you, Will?"

"To me?" I stared at him, startled. Merlin was blushing but he stood his ground.

"I-I saw you once. In the camp. With one of them."

I silently cursed Rylan and his apparent inability to keep Merlin blissfully unaware at all times. "It's not like you think," I said hurriedly. "He didn't- it wasn't like that."

Merlin stared at me; was this another one of his spells? "You liked him."

"He was kind to me, I-"

"You _liked_ him." Merlin's face was stricken, and guilt made my tone angrier than I would have wished.

"He saved my life." I thought of that last night, when Agar had intervened to let me take Merlin away. It made me sick to think of what would have happened if he had not. "He saved your life too. Don’t you think you should be a little bit grateful for that?”

Merlin opened his mouth to speak - to argue? - but whatever he had been going to say was instantly forgotten because we had both heard a sound that made our blood run cold: horsemen.

 _Not again._

There is no mistaking the sound of a band of mounted warriors. I have heard it many times since and it never fails to send a shiver down my spine, speaking as it does of blood and destruction and death.

"Run," I hissed to Merlin, grabbing the straps of my pack to pull it close to my body, and I thanked every deity I could think of when he did.

We ran for our lives. There was nowhere for us to hide - the land was flat and featureless and we had long since left the safety of the trees. It was perfect terrain for horsemen, and I did not need to look back to know that they were gaining easily. I thought briefly of the knife in my pack but I dismissed that idea as quickly as it formed.

With the benefit of hindsight I can see that they toyed with us for a while - we should never have been able to get as far as we did - but eventually they tired of the game and four of them easily outflanked us and blocked our escape, and when we turned to seek another route we found ourselves surrounded.

These were not raiders - nor were they Einion's men. I looked at their surcoats, a rich red cloth emblazoned with a golden dragon over the chest, and I went down on my knees.

Red and gold, just like the knights Merlin had-

If they knew-

Through all this Merlin had remained on his feet, ignoring my hand tugging frantically at the hem of his tunic. I kept my head down, trying to make myself as small as possible as the circle around us tightened still further. There were easily twenty or more of them, and I cringed as I heard the distinctive scrape of a sword being drawn from its scabbard.

"Why did you run?" The voice was harsh, the accent strange but easily distinguishable. Whoever these men were they had not travelled so far. "Who are you?"

Merlin opened his mouth to speak and I jerked hard on his tunic, hard enough to make him lose his balance for a moment. "Travellers, my lord," I said quickly, before he could recover.

"My lord," the man parroted back at me. "I doubt it. Who is your lord?"

"Lord Simony." Who might as well have been dead for all the good he had ever done us. "And King Einion."

"Yet you leave his lands?"

I was painfully aware of how close they were around us. Anyone one of them could strike us down in a heartbeat and I was not sure even Merlin's magic would protect us from that. "We are freemen."

"Yet you ran from us." And there we were, back to his original question. Whoever this man was, he was no fool easily dissuaded.

"Our village was attacked by raiders from the sea ... burned. We travel west to Camelot," - I stumbled a little over the unfamiliar name - "where we have family." It was close enough to the truth.

"You have family in Camelot?"

"My uncle," Merlin said clearly and my head jerked up in surprise - Merlin had never mentioned any family save for his mother and I had always assumed them alone in the world - and for the first time I got a good look at the man questioning us.

The knights around us rode coursers - war horses - of a size surely designed to strike fear into the hearts of unmounted enemies but the man regarding us with open curiosity and not a little animosity needed no help in that. He was a giant of a man, his sword almost a toy in his hand, his fearsome visage speaking of a man not accustomed to mercy. He was leaning forward to inspect us; there was a sharp intelligence in his eyes that made me at once look away from his regard.

"Well then," he said slowly. "This is a fortunate day for you."

"Why so?" Merlin asked and I could have wept; his insolence was going to get us both killed.

The giant frowned, and made an impatient gesture with his hand. "Because, _boy_ , we are knights of Camelot. Come with us and you'll be safe enough from the raiders."

It was, I quickly realised, not a choice in the true sense of the word; we were going with them whether we liked it or not. One of the other knights grabbed at Merlin's arm and he flinched away and I was already on my feet and taking hold of him as I saw that first telltale flash of gold in his eyes.

"Merlin, _no_..."

As quickly as it had come the panic was gone. Merlin’s eyes were blue again and he shrugged off my hold on him and shook his head at me.

"Come on," our questioner said impatiently. "We don't have all day. If you're not too proud to come with us."

"No," I said with a stern look at Merlin. "We're not too proud."

And that was how we came to ride with the knights of Camelot; me perched behind the leader of them - his name, he informed me gruffly as I struggled not to embarrass myself by falling off his horse, was Sir Kay - and Merlin sat tense and uneasy behind one of the other knights. It was mortifying to realise how little distance we had covered before being caught by them; even more mortifying to realise that they had probably been tracking us for some time.

I was not so dazed as to be unaware of our surroundings and I knew we were riding south. I wondered if there were more of them, and it seemed I had spoken aloud for Sir Kay half-turned in his saddle and informed me that they were nothing more than a scouting party.

"You scout north but travel south?"

"These are dangerous times," Kay said shortly and that was the end of our conversation. I could only assume that he was referring to the raiders, and that these men were still wary of the danger posed by the raiders.

My mind was racing - these men wore the same livery as the knights Merlin had killed but I was still not sure what had truly happened at the raiders' camp, who had attacked them. If it had been these men of Camelot then I could not understand why they had been in Ebrauc, so far from home. And if this was only a scouting party, how many of them were there?

My answer was not long in coming. We were passing from the flat, featureless plains now and as we crested a low ridge we turned onto one of the roads paved with stone the men of Rome had left behind. The going was surely easier for the horses but the sound of their hooves on the stone - so loud! - unsettled me and had me looking round again and again.

"No need to be nervous," the knight behind and to the right of Kay told me cheerfully. He looked to be only a few years older than I was; his round, sunny features made him look younger than he probably was. I forced a smile; I might have felt more secure if he had not had such a tight grip on his sword.

"Here," Kay said gruffly, and he waved his hand and two of the other knights went thundering forward and I tensed in anticipation of attack before I realised that the shouts I could hear were that of welcome and not alarm.

We had reached their encampment, and from now on our fate lay in the hands of Camelot.

* * *

In those first minutes Merlin and I passed unnoticed. The encampment was huge - a hundred men at least, if not more - and in the bustle of the knights dismounting and the horses being led away no one was minded to take notice of two strangers. We stood uncertainly where we had been left, and I am sure Merlin was as close to simply running away as I was.

"You, come on!"

Too late; Sir Kay had returned and he gestured to us impatiently. Weaving our way between the horses and the squires who were leading them away, we found ourselves under the scrutiny of Kay and another knight who had surely not been with Kay's party. I took an instant dislike to him; his eyes were close-set and never seemed to settle in one place for long, his face was pinched as if with cold. Not to mention that he wore the unmistakeable colours of Eliffer Gosgorddfawr and that alone would have been enough to condemn him in my eyes.

"Where did you say you found them?" he demanded querulously, and my dislike deepened still further.

"They're not spies, Dornar," Kay said easily. "Their village was burned by the raiders."

"What proof do you have of that?" The one he had called Dornar looked us up and down, and seemed to find us wanting.

"We just want to get to Camelot, my lord," I said carefully.

Dornar sniffed, and the look he gave me was that which one might give a rat caught eating grain. When he spoke his words were addressed to Kay rather than me.

"They belong to Einion, not Uther."

"They're freemen," Kay answered before I could speak. "Their village is gone and they have family in Camelot. They're no use to Einion."

I did not have family in Camelot, but I had no intention of correcting the knight. Dornar sniffed again but it seemed that Kay had won out for he strode away rather than argue further.

"Thank you, my lord," I said gratefully.

Kay gave me an exasperated look. "Don't think I make a habit of it." He looked at Merlin, and then back at me. "I'll ask my servant to find you some work; you might as well make yourselves useful on the journey. Unless either of you has any particular talent?"

I could not even look at Merlin. "No, my lord."

Kay nodded dismissively and walked away, leaving Merlin and I very much alone now that everyone else had apparently found themselves something to do. For the first time I was able to get a good look at our surroundings and I realised that what I had taken to be part of the encampment was in fact a village - not more than five houses so ramshackle they hardly qualified as such - and that the party comprised a good number of Einion's men in addition to the men of Camelot. I had assumed that the tents I could see were for the use of the knights but that did not seem to be the case as I could clearly see bedrolls being laid out on the open ground.

"Find us a good spot to sleep," I told Merlin. "I'll see if I can find us some food."

He nodded. I eyed him warily - the easy compliance made me suspicious - but he looked content enough.

"What?"

"Just find us a place to sleep." I handed him my pack. There was no sense in me carrying it through the camp. "No exploring."

"I'm not as fascinated by knights and armour as you are," he shot back and I winced, because there had indeed been a time when I had been guilty of exactly that. He seemed to regret his words; his cheeks flamed with colour and he looked like he might start apologising, which I could not bear.

"I'll be back in a bit. Be careful."

I did not look back as I walked away. It felt good to be without the weight of the pack and although I was tired and sore from the ride I took my time to look about the camp. It was indeed much larger than I had imagined: forty knights, mostly attired in Camelot's livery, and their squires and servants; a squad of soldiers in Einion's colours whose primary job seemed to be to guard the camp. They looked tired and miserable for the most part, which I could understand if they had been marching all day in their armour.

Most of the camp would sleep under the stars but there were three tents set up in a line, all guarded by men-at-arms who snarled at me when I got too close. Servants bustled to and fro, engrossed in their duties, and I was just about to turn around and try to find Kay again when I was brought up short by the sight of a face I had never thought to see again.

"Lorin!"

The stocky Silurian broke off whatever instruction he was giving one of Einion's soldiers and turned his head to look for the source of the disturbance. I called his name again, and waved, and this time he saw me. Recognition came at once; he grinned broadly and beckoned me over, dismissing the soldier with a wave of his head.

"Will!" His fierce bear hug drove the air from my lungs. "What do you think you're doing? What did I tell you about playing soldiers?"

"I'm no soldier," I assured him quickly. "I'm just passing through."

"Aren't we all." He drew back, holding me at arm's length while giving me a searching once-over. "No sword ... no armour ... perhaps you did listen to me after all."

"Of course I did." I was grinning like an idiot but he only laughed and hugged me again before drawing me aside, away from the bustle around the tents.

"What brings you here, anyway?"

"We were brought here." I briefly described our meeting with Sir Kay and his men, glossing over the circumstances of it somewhat though I suspected Lorin guessed most of what I had omitted.

"Sir Kay's a good man," he remarked when I had finished. "Looks like a brute but his heart is good." He pulled a face. "Dornar is an idiot. Good at paperwork. Drinks with our pretty prince, if that gives you the measure of the man."

It did. I risked a glance around. "Is Eliffer here?"

Lorin gave me a dark look. "He's here but don't go looking for him. He's busy making a fool of himself, executing some peasant boy for sorcery. The mother’s screaming revenge and bloody murder.”

The world stuttered, and it was a moment before I regained the power of speech. Try as I might I felt sure my voice was less than steady. "Sorcery?"

Lorin spat expressively. "Eliffer fears sorcery. We travel with the princess, the lady Gilda. Eliffer finds himself ... lacking, and the lady's maid tells stories. The boy was unlucky." He shrugged dismissively. "You know what he is."

"Yes." There was no need for him to say any more. I felt sick.

"Still, enough of that." Lorin clapped me on the back again, hard enough to make me wince. "You travel with us now?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "We're headed for Camelot."

Lorin frowned. "To Camelot?"

"Merlin - my friend - has family there," I explained, waving a hand in the general direction of where I had left Merlin. "I'm just going with him to look after him."

Lorin eyed me dubiously. "You left your village? How is your family, that pretty sister of yours?"

It should have been simple; it had been time enough for the sharpest pain of their loss to ease, but under Lorin's eyes the words choked me and I had to turn my head away so he would not see the tears in my eyes. He did not press me, nor remark on my weakness; he waited patiently for me to regain some measure of composure and only when I had myself under control again did he continue, his voice soft and carefully neutral.

"We go on to Danum, where Eliffer and his lady will stay for a while before they go on to Lindum. The men of Camelot are to escort Eliffer's aunt, the lady Helen, from Danum to Camelot. If that is where you go, then you are best to travel with them."

"Yes," I managed.

"This friend of yours, this Merlin..." Lorin suddenly frowned. "He's from Ealdor?"

"Yes." It was not a lie, technically. If Lorin did not already know that Merlin had not been born in Ealdor then I saw no reason to tell him. "Why?"

Lorin fisted a hand in my jacket and spun me round. "Come on," he said grimly. "Before he gets himself killed."

I stumbled after him, bewildered, but I quickly realised what Lorin had seen and my heart dropped into my boots because rather than find us a nice, safe place to sleep, Merlin seemed to have picked a fight with a knight.

Elbowing my way through the crowd that had gathered, I took a better look at the knight in question and cursed every deity I could think of. Merlin hadn't just picked a fight with anyone - he had just tried to punch Eliffer Gosgorddfawr and Eliffer had twisted Merlin’s arm up behind his back for his trouble. Two grim-faced men-at-arms were already making their way forward but a sharp elbow from Lorin saw one fold into a tightly-balled huddle of pain and the other took one look at the Silurian's face and sensibly took a sharp step backwards.

Eliffer, I noted, did not look particularly angry, only amused. As if he could not quite believe that a peasant would dare to answer him back. That gave me hope; if Eliffer was in a good mood then Merlin might get away with this if he was suitably contrite and Lorin seemed to think so too for he stepped forward as if to speak-

Too late. Merlin - the idiot - was not remotely cowed and his voice was easily loud enough to carry to the massed onlookers. "Who do you think you are, the king?"

My heart sank again. The prince surely would not let insolence like that go punished, not knowing Eliffer...

I stopped, and looked, and looked again, and cursed myself as a prize fool. The golden hair, the arrogant tilt to the head, the proud set of the mouth ... it was without doubt the man I had seen before the walls of Eboracum.

But it was not Eliffer.

He leaned forward, mouth close to Merlin's ear as if to whisper a confidence. "No," he said deliberately, loud enough to be clearly audible to those around. "I'm his son. Arthur." And with that he wrenched Merlin's arm, sending him down to his knees, and Lorin took hold of me again and manhandled me away before I could speak a word of protest.


	9. Part Eight

"You should have let me say something," I said morosely as I chewed the last of my dinner. The night had come down quickly and I was glad of the warmth of the campfire and - although I did not like to admit it - the company of Lorin and the small group of his most trusted warriors. Within their circle I felt more secure than I had in a long time.

"Say what?" Lorin drained the last of his cup and accosted a passing servant girl for more mead. "What would you have said, Will?"

"If he has Merlin executed..." The words caught in my throat. I hadn't seen Merlin in hours, ever since he had been dragged away by the men-at-arms, but it was hard not to imagine the worst.

Lorin snorted. "Arthur won't have him executed, he’s not that vindictive." He took a generous swig from his cup and sighed appreciatively before glancing in my direction again. "Your friend's an idiot."

"You don't need to tell me," I said gloomily, and the men around me chuckled.

"He's brave enough though," one of the others volunteered. "There's not many would go up against Prince Arthur like that."

"Not likely," another cut in. "You should have seen him at Eboracum."

"You fought the raiders there?" My misery over Merlin's disappearance had occupied most of my thoughts through dinner and this was a welcome distraction.

The first man nodded. "Einion had scouts out ... they gave him fair warning and he sent to Camelot for aid."

"A blessed day for us," Lorin said, with a wink at me, and I heard the unsaid words as clearly as if they had been shouted out loud. Eboracum would have been doomed with Eliffer to lead its army.

"He took Eliffer's place, talking to Hw-the leader of the raiders?" I cursed my slip; most of them did not seem to have noticed but Lorin gave me a sharp look. I stared fixedly at the fire and, to my relief, he did not press.

"Yes." The second man yawned. He had a livid scar across one cheekbone, deep enough to make me wince just looking at it. Such a blow must have nearly killed him and I marvelled that he had survived at all. "And then, when they were feasting that night, we surrounded them. By the time they heard the horsemen coming we were already upon them."

I could picture it so clearly in my mind's eye; Hwala so arrogant, so complacent and so sure of Eliffer's compliance when all along he was being played for a fool. That wide, flat plain that seemed to offer no easy hiding places - yet the raiders had been too busy enjoying their plunder to notice Arthur's advance party creeping across it, surrounding them!

"The slaves, what became of them?" I was aware of Lorin's head snapping up but I did not dare look at him. "I mean ... the raiders must have taken slaves."

The scarred man shrugged. "Dead," he said off-handedly. "When the raiders saw they were surrounded they killed them all." He spat on the ground.

Was I wrong to feel relieved then? To know that there was nothing I could have done to save the others even if I had gone back eased at least a part of my torment but I could not help but feel guilty for feeling it. To live when others have not is a burden few can understand until they bear it too.

Lorin drained his second cup and abruptly got to his feet. "Come on," he said to me.

"Where?" I was already getting up. There was something about Lorin that did not invite disobedience to his commands.

He gave me one of his toothless grins. "To see your idiot of a friend, of course."

The other men bade us farewell; I was almost sorry to leave them for they were good men, and kind too, and their simple company was pleasant enough. But the chance to see Merlin had me hurrying to keep up with Lorin.

"They're cousins, Eliffer and Arthur," he casually remarked to me as we skirted the campfires of Arthur's men. "If you were wondering."

Not knowing what else to say, I resorted to stating the obvious. "They're very alike."

Lorin snorted. "In looks only, boy." He nodded a greeting to one of the knights; it was odd to see him so respectful of anyone. "You won't see Arthur running from a fight."

At the far side of the camp stood the baggage train; five carts drawn up in a tight circle. I had only given in the briefest of glances when we arrived in the camp but now Lorin led me towards it with sure steps.

"Slow things, these," he grumbled. "This is what comes of transporting women and fools of princes ... look alive, man!" The last was addressed to a guard slumped against one of the carts, who looked less than impressed at being disturbed from his rest.

"The baggage is off limits," he said sulkily. "Orders."

"Don't be a fool," Lorin snapped and pushed past him. I did not dare look at him as I scurried after the Silurian. We were far from the fires and I wished I had thought to catch up a torch; I had no desire to trip and fall on my face.

"Where are we going?" I hissed at Lorin.

He ignored me, but already I could see where we were going, despite the lack of light; on the other side of the circle stood a cart with a strange construction built on top of the flat base. A cage of sorts. I swallowed thickly.

Lorin stopped suddenly; I almost walked straight into him. "Your friend," he grunted, pushing me bodily towards the cart. "He'll be in there."

With a few muttered words of thanks I fumbled my way towards the cage. There was not much to see but I could hear breathing. More than one person.

"Merlin?"

I heard shuffling, and the shadows shifted a little.

"Will? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, idiot." My fumbling hands found the bars of the cage, and Merlin's hands. "What were you thinking?"

There was a pause before Merlin replied, long enough to make me think he was offended. "He was being a prat," he said eventually.

"He's a _prince_ , Merlin. That's what they do." I could not keep the exasperation out of my voice. If it had been Eliffer Merlin had challenged he might have been dead already. "How long are they keeping you in here?"

"I don't know. Until we reach Danum perhaps."

I groaned, but it quickly occurred to me that Merlin's incarceration could have a positive aspect; at least I knew where he was and he was unlikely to get into any more trouble locked in a cage.

"I'm sorry, Will." Merlin sounded contrite but I wasn't entirely sure he was sorry - sorry for the fact that he was locked up, perhaps, but not for challenging the prince of Camelot.

"It's all right," I reassured him. "We'll think of something to get you out."

"We?"

"Lorin's here." I looked around for him but he had wandered away to talk to the guard again.

"Oh." Merlin did not sound particularly reassured by Lorin's presence but then he only really knew him through brief acquaintance and through my stories; he did not have the instinctive trust I had in the man.

"Have you eaten?"

Merlin snorted. "A bit of bread." He must have been pressed against the bars; I could feel his breath against my skin.

"I'll try and get you something else for breakfast," I promised, and the way his breath hitched made me feel warm inside.

"Thanks, Will."

"I'll see you tomorrow." I didn't want to leave him but Lorin had come back and was lurking impatiently. "Stay out of trouble."

I could hear the grin in his voice when he replied. "There's not a lot I can do locked in a cage."

"I wouldn't put it past you." I closed my hand over his, just for a moment. "Goodnight, Merlin."

The whisper of my name from his lips sent me on my way and I fell asleep that night with the memory of it a sweet song easing me into my dreams.

* * *

Morning saw us underway and what seemed at first to be a confused riot of animals and people soon resolved itself into a remarkably efficient operation of packing up the camp and setting us on our way once more.

I stuck close to Lorin, unsure of my own place and unwilling to draw too much attention to myself. He had a mount of his own and I thought I might be reduced to riding pillion again but he took one look at me hovering by his horse, muttered something under his breath, and called for one of the servants to find me a horse. To my surprise it was a courser, and a fine one at that.

"Its last owner fell at Eboracum with an axe in his head," Lorin remarked laconically as I mounted with so much fumbling and cursing that a group of Arthur's knights rode over to watch. I bit back my retort in favour of attempting to retain my balance. Lorin himself sat in the saddle like a sack of potatoes so I did not feel myself to be too disadvantaged a horseman.

Eliffer rode past, effortlessly graceful. I deliberately ducked my head but he did not even glance in my direction, focused as he was on Lorin.

"Ready to go, Lorin? The men are slow this morning."

"Yes, my lord," Lorin replied cheerfully, with a wink at me when Eliffer turned to look for his knights. "All ready."

"About time." Eliffer rode away, and Lorin winked at me again.

"One day he'll be king. Gods help us all, eh?"

Arthur came past and now I had the chance for a good look at him I marvelled that I had ever confused him with Eliffer. I said as much to Lorin.

"Cousins," he said, with an expressive shrug of his shoulders. "Someone with more time on their hands than me might give you the tale of the whole sorry lot of them but take it from me - the shoots of that tree either blossom bright, or they wither diseased and die." He grinned his toothless grin and clapped my shoulder. "And I reckon you already know which of _them_ is which."

He rode away to inspect the last of the packing up and I was left alone to contemplate his words, and what he had meant by them. Not that there was much mystery - I already knew what he thought of Eliffer. I wondered about Arthur though; I could only hope that a man that Lorin respected so much would be inclined to show mercy to such as Merlin.

Then again, he already had.

I looked for Merlin but the cage was empty of its prisoners this morning, packed with the folded tents instead. I could only assume that the prisoners were expected to walk but there were too many soldiers and knights milling around that I could not be sure Merlin was there. I resolved to look for him later; the column was getting underway and it was all I could do to keep my place in it.

"Sit up straight," Lorin shot at me as he returned to his place in the column. "Think yourself the equal of the pretty knights."

I laughed; I could not help it. "Don't let them hear you call them that."

Lorin looked meaningfully at the knight directly in front of us. It was Dornar. "Not all of them need be offended," he said with such a serious expression that I began laughing all over again, so loudly that Dornar turned round in his saddle and gave me a furious scowl. I subsided a little after that, and occupied myself with looking around us instead.

We travelled again on the Roman road, a great winding column of man and beast and cart with the two golden princes riding together at its head, the knights of Camelot behind. Then came the lady Gilda, and her retinue - some of which, I could not help but notice, still wore the colours of Elmet - and then the majority of Eliffer's knights, followed by Lorin and myself at the head of the remainder of the soldiers who guarded the baggage train. The servants trailed alongside and behind the carts, being required to lend their strength to freeing the carts from some impediment on occasions, and then at the very back of the column rode the remainder of the knights. It must have been a fearsome sight, that column, but I could not feel safe. Not yet.

We made good time, despite the halts required whenever one or more of the carts became stuck. I found myself fascinated by the changing landscape as we travelled south; this was surely the furthest I had ever travelled from Ealdor and the flat open plains I was used to were gradually giving way to a landscape of gently rolling hills and thick vegetation.

"How long will it take us to reach Danum?" I asked Lorin as we waited for the third stuck cart of the day to be freed.

Lorin scowled at the overcast sky as if he held it personally responsible for the delay. "Without that lot?" He gestured at the baggage train. "Tonight, easily. The speed we're making now, tomorrow. Just be grateful we're only going as far as Danum on this road."

"And then what? What happens when we reach Danum?"

Lorin's scowl deepened. " _You_ go on to Camelot; we follow Eliffer wherever his idiocy takes us." He raised a hand, the signal to go on. Evidently the cart had been freed. "To the grave, most likely."

The pace was a little faster after that but it still felt painfully slow. I occupied myself with looking around a great deal. From time to time I caught sight of signs of habitation in the distance but it seemed no one cared to live too close to the road. When I asked Lorin about it he shrugged but I sensed perhaps there was more that he simply did not care to share with me and I did not press.

When we halted for lunch I took the opportunity to seek out Merlin. Leaving my horse in the capable hands of one of Lorin's men, I swiped some food and made my way back down the column to the baggage train. As I had suspected, Merlin was indeed behind the baggage train, sprawled awkwardly on the ground with a bored-looking soldier watching over him and the other prisoner.

The other prisoner. A raider.

My heart stood still for a moment, until my wits caught up with what my eyes were seeing and I realised that it was not Agar who sat not two steps from Merlin, chained as Merlin was and as much a prisoner.

"Move along, lad." One of the Camelot knights moved me pointedly out of the way of a gaggle of servants bearing food for the soldiers and I stumbled and almost lost my balance before I managed to regain some measure of control.

Merlin looked up at that moment and saw me and his tired face lit up with a smile that warmed my heart. He lifted his manacled hands towards me.

"Will!"

I went to him, still a little numb with the shock of seeing a raider up close after all this time. Merlin eagerly took the food from me; as I had suspected the prisoners had not been fed and he was clearly starving. Watching him at least gave me something to focus on.

"How much further is it?" he asked when he had finally done cramming food into his mouth. He had a bit of apple peel stuck to his lower lip and it was with difficulty that I resisted the instinctive urge to kiss it away.

"Lorin says tomorrow." I do not think my voice sounded anything like it normally did but if Merlin noticed he said nothing about it.

"Another night." Merlin sighed and rubbed at his wrists as best he could. I could see how the manacles had chafed at the skin, rubbing it raw.

"How tight are those fastened?" I felt for myself and found that I could not even get a finger between the iron and his wrist. Merlin had slender wrists, fine-boned and delicate; it seemed even more cruel to damage them so.

"Leave it, Will," he said bleakly and something in his voice made me look up.

Eliffer was watching us.

Quite why the prince of Ebrauc had ridden back down the column to watch the likes of us, I do not know. He looked - if one did not know what lay behind the facade - quite magnificent on his charger, all gleaming plate and golden hair, every inch a prince. He watched us with open amusement on his face but there was something calculating behind the smile.

To my horror, he dismounted from his horse and strode towards us, one hand casually on the hilt of his sword as he eyed Merlin.

"Will you fight with me as you fought with my cousin?" he drawled.

Merlin's hands clenched into fists and without thinking I clamped my hands down over his wrists. One word from him and it would be over.

I was holding my breath, waiting for the blow to fall - figuratively and literally - but Eliffer was turning away; a messenger had run up, commanding his attention. I took the opportunity to hiss a warning to Merlin and force him to turn his head away from the prince, for his eyes were tinged with gold.

Eliffer was required at the front of the column. I waited, barely able to breathe, until I saw him remount his horse and ride away at a brisk trot.

"Idiot," I told Merlin, releasing my grip on him with more than a little remorse. "What were you going to do to him?"

Merlin bit his lip and did not reply.

"Unless you want them to know..." I left the rest unsaid, content that I had won the argument, for now.

Lorin was waiting for me when I returned to my place in the column and one look at his expression told me exactly who had been responsible for sending the messenger to Eliffer.

"Be careful of him," he said briefly. "He's a bully and a coward, and a chained boy is just the sort of opponent he prefers."

I thought of what Merlin could do, if he wished it, and hoped for his own sake that Eliffer would leave him alone.

"Still," Lorin went on, oblivious to my inner turmoil, "at least you don't have to worry about anything else. Eliffer likes girls."

I nodded, keeping my head down as the column stirred into motion once again. I very deliberately did not look back.

* * *

The further south we travelled the more relaxed the armed men became. Lorin explained that Danum itself lay far from the raiders' usual hunting grounds but I still felt unease I could not put a clear reason to.

As night fell we halted, and on command the column broke into the same riot of man and beast that had marked its dispersal. I kept myself out of the way as tents were pitched and fires laid, but I was moved to action when I saw Merlin being pushed towards the cage along with the raider.

The raider who was not Agar and all the more dangerous for that; I would have trusted Merlin's safety to Agar in a heartbeat.

I sought out Lorin and explained in stilted terms why I would not wish to see Merlin locked away with the raider, and although I did not go into details I think the Silurian understood well enough. He told me to go and fetch my bedroll and find myself a place at their fire. As I was preparing my bed for the night I saw him speaking with Sir Kay and soon after the knight strode towards the baggage train and barked orders at the guards and Merlin was released from the cage, stumbling with exhaustion. I watched carefully, determined not to let him out of my sight, but the guards only bound him to the wheel of one of the other carts and thereafter left him alone.

"He's safe enough there," Lorin said simply when he returned to our fire and my heartfelt thanks. Later he sent one of his men with food for Merlin, and a blanket to keep him warm.

"Don't," he said quietly when, after we had eaten, I rose to go to Merlin. "The prince will still be looking for an excuse. He'll be fine where he is."

I was uneasy to leave Merlin so but I could see the sense in Lorin's words: we were closer to the tents that night, and Eliffer might easily see me make my way to Merlin's side. I settled back into my place in the circle and accepted another cup of mead and resolved to listen to the chatter of Lorin's men rather than brood on what I could not have.

They were talking about the raiders, of course - the slaughter they had visited on them at Eboracum. Listening to their words, their graphic descriptions of destruction and death, I could not help the twinge of remorse I felt in addition to the satisfaction of revenge for the murder of my family.

"They won't be back," a small man who looked a little like a fox opined confidently. "They'll have learned their lesson from us."

"How could they learn a lesson when we killed them all?" another scoffed.

"Some will have escaped," a third said mildly. "There are always survivors."

"And where would they go?" The first man was not to be dissuaded. "There would not have been enough to sail a ship. No, any that escaped are as dead as those we killed."

I took a long draught of mead, letting the scorch of it in my throat burn away a little of the sickness those words occasioned. I set my cup down and glanced up to see Lorin watching me and I knew - oh, I knew! - that he had seen too much.

"And you-" The second man turned to me, catching me off guard. "They burned your village, did they not?"

Bile rose in my throat. "Yes."

"Did you hide from them?" the first man asked, scorn in his voice. "Is that how you survived?"

"Murrow..." Lorin said warningly but I did not need him to fight my battles.

"No," I said firmly. "I was taken prisoner by them." I could see Lorin watching me again but there was no stopping now. "I escaped, before the battle."

That silenced them for a moment, and then the second man clapped me on the shoulder and leaned over to top up my mead.

"You'll make a warrior yet then, eh?"

They laughed, and it was friendly laughter, but I still had to force a smile.

Later, when I went into the woods for a piss, I was not entirely surprised to find that Lorin had followed me a little way and he was waiting for me to return, just far enough away from the fires that our conversation would be unheard.

"You were prisoners of the raiders, you and Merlin?" he asked peremptorily.

"Yes." It was a cold night and I did not want to spend too long away from the fires; answering Lorin's questions seemed the easiest option.

He grunted something I could not make out and stepped closer. It was too dark to see his face but I could hear the concern in his voice when he spoke again.

"Did they ... hurt you?"

"They nearly broke my skull," I said with feeling, remembering the awful pain. "But otherwise ... no." I thought of Gavin, of the way Hwala had struck him down without a moment's thought. "I was lucky."

"Luckier than Merlin, hm?"

There was no point denying it; I had already given him enough of an idea of what had happened. "Yes."

Lorin was silent for a while, long enough that I began to hope that this talk was done, but it was not to be.

"Why were you lucky, Will?"

I knew what he meant without him having to say it. "One of them ... looked after me. Kept the others away from me."

I sensed Lorin nodding, and the silent understanding prompted me to continue.

"He was kind to me, and wanted nothing in return. Not like that."

Again Lorin was silent, and I cast a longing eye at the fire.

"It is good that you survived," he said at last. Another brief silence followed this, and then:

"Be careful it does not lead you to betrayal."

"I am no traitor!" I exclaimed, stung by the insinuation.

"There are many paths to betrayal." The Silurian went on as if I had not spoken. "Not all are obvious at first sight. A man may betray his kinsmen out of ambition, out of fear, out of resentment. He may do it out of love ... and he may do it out of gratitude."

"I am not a traitor," I insisted, and I sensed Lorin nodding again.

"Be careful, Will," he said softly. "The man who was so kind to you is still your enemy. Do not forget that."

Of course Agar had said much the same thing to me but that did not make it any easier to hear. I turned away furiously from Lorin but he caught my arm and tugged me back before I could go far.

"Listen," he hissed when I tried to pull away, and I gave up trying to get away.

"I don't want to hear it."

"You should." He shook me, not hard enough to hurt but certainly enough to be uncomfortable. "The raiders will come back next year, and the year after. Perhaps one day we will fall to them. But until that day comes we must fight them, and there cannot be room for traitors in our ranks, however well-meaning they may be."

Afterwards I would be ashamed at my outburst but I was tired, overwrought and thinking entirely too many thoughts for one man's wits and I could not check the bitter words that came out of my mouth.

"He was a good man - an honourable man - and a friend to me. But he is dead now, murdered, so it does not matter!"

We walked back to the camp in silence, Lorin glowering and me flushed with anger and shame combined. If the others noticed in their inebriated state they kept quiet and after another glass of mead I found that emotions became dulled enough for me to pay attention to the tale one of Lorin's men was telling.

He was a good storyteller and I found myself becoming engrossed in his tale, which seemed to centre around Coel Hen himself, his battles with the barbarians of the far north, the division of his great kingdom between his sons Gorbanian and Cenau. From the storyteller's words I learned of Cenau's prowess in turn, his father's legacy held fast and strengthened before the kingdom of the north was split again on his death, divided between his sons Mor and Gwrgant. I learned that Gwrgant took Rheged as his own - a pretty mess he made of it too, until his sons Merchion and Masgwid – the lady Gilda’s father – came of age and finally drove all threats from his land.

Our storyteller did not speak much of Mor aside from in passing, and I wondered why until I glanced up and realised that both princes were standing close by with a small group of knights, listening intently to the tale. Since Mor was their grandfather in common it was clear there would be no unfavourable talk of him that night. Arthur seemed to find mentions of Masgwid amusing but Eliffer only scowled and I wondered why he found mention of his father-in-law so distasteful.

"Masgwid has no sons," Murrow, now quite amenable, told me as we damped the fire down and prepared for sleep. "By marrying Gilda, Eliffer can rule Elmet along with Ebrauc but the price for that is Masgwid. You can imagine what a shrewd old fox like Masgwid makes of our prince!" He snorted with laughter and burrowed himself into his bedroll. Like all of them he kept his sword drawn from its scabbard and close by him while he slept.

Left alone, I looked over at the royal fire, where only Arthur remained sitting, apparently lost in silent contemplation. All around us the camp was falling quiet as one by one its denizens slipped into the blessed arms of sleep and I suspect there were not many eyes to see the lady Gilda stealthily emerge from her tent and sit by the fire with the prince of Camelot.

I have mentioned the lady but not, of course, said much of her. The ungallant truth is that I had not taken much notice of her before that night for she was no great beauty and, indeed, she was very much outshone by the glittering splendour of her husband. Yet with the wisdom of years I think I do her a disservice; she was certainly pretty enough in an oddly faded way and there was a keen intelligence to her that spoke surely of her lineage.

Of what she and Arthur spoke that night I did not know at the time, and indeed for many moons after. I watched, it is true; indeed I could not look away as they talked, heads close together. I imagined all manner of endearments whispered between them but it occurred to me too that if this was some kind of illicit romance then they were not taking much care to hide it. Since I could conceive no other – more innocent – reason for them to share such confidences, I was both intrigued and scandalised by the apparent morals of the royal court.

The lady rose to her feet, and said something that made the prince smile. He too rose to his feet and I half-expected them to retire to the lady's tent but he only kissed her hand and then saw her safely to her tent before retiring to his in turn.

I was much puzzled by this, not yet knowing of the politics of kings as I was, and that - coupled with all the emotion of the day - caused me to lie awake for long hours that night until finally I escaped into uneasy sleep.

* * *

Godric gives me a wry smile as he helps me dismount from my horse. “We did come back, did we not?” he says softly. “Not that year but soon after.”

“You did,” I agree, wincing a little. I am still not much of a horseman. I take a deep breath, drawing in air untainted with the stench of man and horse and pig that is the constant curse of my comfortable, cosseted life.

Godric tactfully waits for me to steady myself before he speaks again. The day is cold and damp and my body dislikes such weather and tells me as much with every waking breath and it takes me a little while to accomplish even the simplest action.

“Does it not make you angry?” he asks when I am ready to go on.

We have discussed such matters before; I cannot think why he asks me again. “No.”

“But why not? We took your land, we slaughtered your people. Do you not resent us for that?”

“You could say that I have done very well from your people,” I point out as we make our way over to the small cairn that is our destination. It is a journey of several hours to visit this place but the very remoteness ensures that it remains undisturbed from one year to the next. “I would have lived out my life farming my fields in Ealdor otherwise, and you and I would never have known each other. Which you might count as a blessing.” The latter was added as an afterthought.

He laughs. “A blessing indeed. But then I would not have known your daughter, and my life would have been much the poorer.”

He leaves me to walk the final steps alone. I have brought a flower to lay on the cairn, a gladiolus, carefully preserved in a wrap of linen; it is a sentimental gesture but one I make nonetheless as a token of all that I cannot put into words. There is a ghost who walks here but one I know wishes me no harm.

“You should write of politics,” he tells me when I return from my devotions, too tactful to mention my reddened eyes. “All the machinations of the royal courts. You learned enough of it, over the years.”

“No one would wish to read of that.” I scowl at the rain which has started falling, that peculiar rain that falls in these parts which is so light as to be almost unnoticeable if one is not paying attention but which manages to soak through the thickest of cloaks all the same.

Godric helps me remount; I can only envy the ease with which he mounts his own horse. “Come then; if we press we may return in time for dinner.”

I take one last look at the cairn, and the offering I have left upon it. I have come here every year for more years than I care to remember and there is a part of me that knows that I will not come to this place again in life, but I cannot help but wonder if perhaps my spirit too will one day dwell here.

* * *

Merlin was no longer bound to the cart when I brought him his breakfast the next morning. I did my best impression of Lorin's scowl but Merlin did not look half as contrite as I would have liked.

"What? The ropes were tight."

"Just be glad they were only round your ankles," I said pointedly.

Merlin held up his wrists to show me the intact manacles. "I left these."

I rolled my eyes at him but he was not remotely intimidated by that and cheerfully tucked into the breakfast I had brought. Around us the camp was waking up and, right on cue, one of the guards was approaching us. He ignored my polite greeting and crouched down by Merlin instead.

"Hands," he grunted.

Merlin gave me a wary glance but held out his hands anyway. The guard noticed the ropes lying slack on the ground and shot Merlin a look heavy with suspicion. Anyone who knew Merlin well would not have been fooled for a moment by his innocent expression but it seemed to take the guard in, for he grunted something I did not catch and unfastened the manacles around Merlin's wrists.

"I'm being set free?" Merlin rubbed at his wrists as if in wonder.

"Prince's orders," the guard said briefly as he stood up again. He hurried away and Merlin and I looked at each other.

"Learned your lesson then?" I looked meaningfully at his raw wrists and Merlin grimaced.

"Of course I have."

I didn't believe a word of it but I contented myself with silence as Merlin finished his breakfast. The guards were taking the captured raider out of the cage, ready for the day's travel. I quickly glanced over at Merlin but he had not noticed.

"I'll see if I can find you a horse," I told him. "So you don't have to walk again."

"It wasn't so bad," he said cheerfully around a mouthful of bread and cheese. "But thanks."

The raider was not fair like Agar but tanned and dark-haired. He did not seem to speak our language, if his lack of reaction to the guards' taunting was anything to go by.

That made it so much easier to hate him.

"We get another royal visit today," Merlin said suddenly and I looked back in alarm to see that he was right, and that today we had not just Eliffer but Arthur as well. I cursed under my breath; the last thing we needed was any attention from either of them.

"Promise me you won't try and punch Arthur again, right?"

Merlin gave me an exasperated look. "I'll stay out of trouble."

The two princes were looking over their captive raider, laughing together. I tried to ignore the loud, braying laughter, the easy arrogance that made my fists clench.

"We should go," I told Merlin, and he nodded. We got to our feet and started to make our way towards the front of the column but we got no more than three steps before a collective intake of breath from behind us stopped us in our tracks.

I think I already knew what I would see when I turned to look but the sight still made my gut tighten and the bile rise in my throat. Eliffer stood tall and arrogant and laughing, with his sword still wet with the blood of the captive raider who lay gasping his last on the ground. From the expressions on the faces of those stood around I knew at once that this had been no provoked attack.

Merlin had covered half the distance to Eliffer before my wits caught up with events, and by then it was too late to catch him back. Eliffer saw him coming but he obviously saw no threat in a peasant boy; he turned to face Merlin and grinned.

"What's this? Come to defend him? You're a little late."

I could see Merlin's hands clench into fists. "He was unarmed. Chained. He was no threat to you."

Arthur, who had until now been silent, took a step towards Merlin, one hand waving his cousin back. "How's your knee-walking coming along?" he asked, smirking.

I thought for one heart-stopping moment that Merlin was going to do something that we would all regret but he seemed to think better of it; he turned away and began walking back to me.

"Oh, don't run away!" Arthur called after him, and Merlin stopped.

"From you?"

 _Oh hell._ Desperately I tried to think of an easy way out of this. Eliffer still had his sword drawn and I did not miss the way he looked at Merlin.

"Thank god," Arthur drawled, taking a step to close the distance between himself and Merlin. "I thought you were deaf as well as dumb."

I willed Merlin not to rise to it, to apologise, but of course I should have known better where Merlin was concerned.

"Look, I've told you you're an ass. I just didn't realise that you were a royal one."

The disbelieving expressions I could see on the faces of those around me almost certainly matched my own. Whatever idiocies they might perpetrate, however foolish their words, no one would dare to speak so to a man of noble blood.

No one except Merlin, obviously.

Arthur himself looked entirely taken aback by Merlin's response. He half-turned to where two of his knights stood watching, seemingly lost for a reply to Merlin's utter lack of subservience.

"What are you going to do?" Just when I thought my horror had peaked, Merlin took a step towards the prince of Camelot, head cocked insolently. "Get your daddy's men to protect you?"

"I could take you apart with one blow." Arthur seemed to be getting angry, which was not a good development. I looked around frantically for Lorin but the Silurian was nowhere to be seen.

"I could take you apart with less than that," Merlin retorted.

"You sure about that?"

There was a chance then, a chance to walk away. I think Arthur would have let him go if he had gone. But of course Merlin could not let it go like that; to my horror he began to shrug off his jacket.

There could be no greater contrast between them. Arthur was all bulging muscle and taut sinew; Merlin's lanky frame was the product of too rapid growth, an insufficiency of fine food, and a life not spent on the training field wearing heavy plate armour. Arthur seemed to find it as ridiculous as I did; he laughed heartily, looking to his cousin to share the joke.

It got worse. Arthur beckoned one of the knights over and took something from him. I had by this time managed to work my way round the crowd that had gathered so that I could get a better view; to my horror I realised that what Arthur had taken from the knight was a flail.

"Here you go, big man." He threw it to Merlin, whose reactions were as quick as ever; he managed to duck rather than be struck in the head with it.

"Come on then!" While Merlin fumbled on the ground for the dropped flail Arthur was busy getting his own. I had only ever seen a flail used in anger once before, but that example has been terrible enough. Seeing how Merlin hefted it uncertainly, I felt my blood run cold.

"I should warn you,” Arthur drawled as he advanced on Merlin. “I've been trained to kill since birth."

"Wow.” Merlin at least had hold of the flail now, but that did not comfort me in the slightest. He was going to be slaughtered. “And how long have you been training to be a prat?"

Something like amusement passed over Arthur's face, a genuine amusement now rather than mockery but still tinged with disbelief that anyone would dare speak to him so. "You can't address me like that."

"Sorry, sorry...” Merlin ducked his head in a parody of deference, peering up at the prince innocently as he asked:

“How long have you been training to be a prat, _my lord_?"

Was it at that moment that I first became aware of something other than anger in the air? Perhaps _aware_ is the wrong word; I was not yet wise enough to truly understand what I was seeing before me. But I understood enough to know that the simmering hostility between the sorcerer and the prince was interlaced with something else entirely, something that perhaps they themselves did not realise was there.

I was distracted at that moment by a non-too gentle tug on my arm. I looked round, ready to shrug off my aggressor, but it was only Lorin. He held a finger up to his lips, a clear sign that I was to remain silent.

"What is your friend up to now?" he asked.

"Playing at being a knight," I said bitterly. Merlin was backing away, as quickly as he could, towards the cart and the body of the dead raider, but Arthur was following after him, swinging the flail around his head with practised ease, while Eliffer cheered him on. I winced as Arthur swung at Merlin; Merlin managed to dodge out of the way but it was a close-run thing.

Lorin had a firm grip on my arm, in case I had any thoughts of trying to intervene on Merlin’s behalf. Not that I could have said anything even if I had wanted to; my heart was in my mouth as I watched Arthur track Merlin towards the carts.

"He'll be fine," Lorin said, wisely.

"He's going to get himself killed!" I cried.

Lorin rolled his eyes at me; there was the beginning of a smile on his face. "I think you underestimate him, and Arthur."

The crowd had grown while I had been paying attention to Lorin and to the fight and now comprised nearly a quarter of the camp. Indeed, the crowd was so dense in front of me that I had to strain to catch sight of Merlin and Arthur. The two knights of Camelot who had taken up station directly in front of me were so tall that I could not see clearly and I was forced to go around them, elbowing my way through the crowd like a small child at a summer's fair.

I was still looking for a vantage point when a roar went up from the people around me.

"What happened?" I asked the woman next to me.

She spared me the briefest glance. "Prince Arthur tripped over a bucket and fell on his face," she told me.

I did not believe for a moment that the Prince was so ungainly as to fall over something he must have been able to see clearly; I detected the hand of Merlin in this sudden and mysterious accident. Finally, I made my way to the front of the crowd and now I had a slightly better view. Apparently I had arrived just in time, for the prince was lying sprawled on his back, his flail lying discarded several steps away, with Merlin swinging his own flail with more skill than I would ever have given him credit for an advancing threateningly on the prince.

"Do you want to give up? Do you?"

He had done it, somehow he had bested the prince of Camelot, but to the side of Merlin, I could see Eliffer standing with his sword held tight in his hand and as I watched that sword began to move-:

"Merlin!" I cried.

Gods help me, he still responded to my voice; he turned his head to look over and as he did so Arthur regained his feet, caught up the carter's staff that had been resting against the nearest cart and brought it down heavily across Merlin's thin shoulders, sending him sprawling to the ground. The flail flew from his nerveless hands. Before he could get his breath back, Arthur hit him again, across the small of the back this time and then he stood back and grinned at his cousin, confident again in victory.

I felt myself sag with relief; one injury to the prince and Merlin would have been dead already. He was moving a little; not much but enough to tell me that he was not injured beyond all repair. Two of the guards moved in and caught hold of him, dragging him up to his feet. He swayed between them, dazed.

"No, let him go," Arthur told the guards. "He may be an idiot, but he's a brave one."

The crowd were, I think, a little disappointed that their entertainment was over. At Arthur's command they quickly dispersed and went back to their duties. Eliffer was clearly disappointed and I saw him talking to Arthur, gesturing towards Merlin as if to say that Arthur should continue with the unequal struggle. Mindful of this, I had no hesitation in going to Merlin, who had collapsed back to his knees. With my help, he managed to move into a more comfortable sitting position, wincing as he did so.

"What we you thinking?" I hissed.

"He needed to be taught a lesson," Merlin mumbled. His eyes were huge, and wet with unshed tears.

"You used magic." I tried to keep my voice low, mindful of those who were still in easy earshot around us. "Do you want to be executed for sorcery? You can't let anyone find out about your magic."

Merlin mumbled something I could not hear. He balled his hands against his eyes and I looked away for a moment to give him his privacy.

"You have to stop using magic. If you go on like this you're going to be killed. Lorin said that Eliffer’s already executed one boy for sorcery."

"I don't want to stop using my magic," Merlin said stubbornly.

"Then you have to learn to master it," I said with growing exasperation.

"What is there to master?" Merlin glared at me. "I could move objects with my mind before I could walk."

"Then by now you should know how to control it!"

"I don't _want_ to control it!" We were both raising our voices; too loud. I hushed him as best I could but he was not to be stopped. "Without magic, I'm nothing; I'm just a nobody. And I always will be." He was on the verge of tears.

"Merlin..."

"If I can’t use magic, then I might as well die." And with that he pushed himself up and I could only stare after him, open-mouthed, as he disappeared into the milling crowd.

“He’ll come back,” Lorin drawled, and the shock of his voice so close behind me made me start and scramble to my feet.

“Some warning next time?” I brushed grass from my tunic and glared at Lorin but the Silurian only grinned unrepentantly.

“You’ll never make a warrior with those reflexes.”

“You’re the one who told me I made a better farmer,” I retorted. I risked a quick look around for Merlin but he was nowhere in sight.

“Don’t worry about him,” Lorin went on as if I had not spoken. “I’ll send one of the lads to find him before we go on. Wouldn’t want him seeking out more trouble.”

“Merlin doesn’t need to seek out trouble,” I said flatly. “It finds him.”

Lorin chuckled. “True enough. But he’s interested the prince, and that might keep him alive.”

My gaze was drawn to Eliffer and Arthur, now not five paces from Lorin and myself. Eliffer was speaking; his petulant tone had me clenching my fists even before I heard his words.

“…spoken to like that by a peasant. You should have killed him, Arthur.”

I could not see Arthur’s face since he was turned towards his cousin but I could hear him clear enough. “He’s an idiot but that’s not worthy of a death sentence. Half the nobility would be on the block if that was the case.”

Eliffer grunted something I could not make out but the edge seemed to have been taken off his anger. I nearly missed Arthur’s next words, so quietly were they spoken.

“And besides … there’s something about him. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

My heart clenched with panic at the thought that Arthur might have noticed Merlin’s use of magic. Certain that I was flushed to the roots of my hair, I stared determinedly at the ground until I was sure they were gone. Only then did I look up; Lorin was watching me with a knowing smirk on his face.

“What did I tell you?”

“Arthur isn’t interested in Merlin,” I said, but it didn’t sound particularly convincing even to my ears.


	10. Part Nine

We arrived in Danum shortly before noon. After the morning's excitement, someone -- probably Lorin -- had found another horse for Merlin to ride. I was glad of that, although he did not complain it was obvious that he was in pain from his fight with Arthur and I had not wished to see him walk again. He did not speak much, content to ride behind Sir Kay and I hoped that perhaps he was finally seeing sense, the wisdom of remaining quiet since his mouth invariably seemed to get him into trouble.

At first sight the town did not look like much. The town had been built on the banks of the river that wound its way lazily through the countryside and it might have once seemed impressive but now cattle grazed on the earthworks and what walls remained seemed to have been used as a source of building stone for the ramshackle dwellings at the gate. It was only as we rode further into the town itself that the true scale of the place became apparent. Tarnished its glory was – the fine houses were crumbling and the stones beneath our horses’ hooves were in desperate need of repair – but it was still finer that anything I had set eyes on before. I said as much to Sir Kay, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to act as some kind of guardian to Merlin and myself, and he laughed. Once I saw Camelot, he promised, I would not think much of Danum.

The people of Danum did not look so pleased to see us and I wondered if they too had heard of Eliffer’s reputation. I asked Sir Kay, about the provenance of the town and he told me a long tale of how the men of Rome had built a fort there and named it after the river goddess Danu. It was their way, he explained; whenever they took over a new land they would, as far as was possible, use names associated with the area they had conquered to name their own fortifications. It was a clever tactic; I had no military training but even I could see that in this way the invaders might be more easily accepted by the people whose land they had conquered.

Close to a thousand people lived there, on the banks of the river. Kay told me there was still a garrison in the town, although it was nothing like as large as it had been during the time of the men of Rome. Danum’s ownership was, he informed me slyly, disputed between Einion and Uther Pendragon. They had fallen into an uneasy peace over the last few years, and the town was now held under the stewardship of a man who held no real loyalty to either of them. It was an imperfect solution but one that kept the peace between the two brothers for now.

The commander of the garrison at Danum was a man named Antonius. It was a Roman name, although he did not look much like my idea of a Roman. Sir Kay told me later that after just fifty years or so of their occupation there were not many left of pure Roman blood in Danum, not that many would have been so in the first place. This surprised me a little, but Sir Kay told me how the men of Rome augmented their own legions with men from every territory in their empire. In this way Rome amassed a great army, the likes of which had not been seen since, men from all corners of the Empire, bringing with them strange and outlandish weapons and customs and manners, all of which were mixed together in the melting pot of this land.

"Did they take our men for their legions?" I asked curiously.

Sir Kay laughed. "They took men from these lands. And women, and children too. We were much prized as slaves in Rome."

I puzzled over this as Arthur and Eliffer went through the rituals of greeting with Antonius, a short, dour man who did not seem greatly pleased by the arrival of the two princes and their entourage. I could understand that in part – to feed and house and supply such an army, knowing that his hospitality would be remarked on and judged in the courts of Einion and Uther, was enough to make any man uneasy.

"If their legions were so great, and the Empire so huge, what caused it to fall?"

Sir Kay did not reply for a moment and I gained the impression he was considering how best to phrase his reply. "All empires must fall in the end," he said at last. "Empires grow through conquest, and a great leader and a great army may conquer many lands. But once he has conquered, what does he do then? The Empire must be ruled. The larger the Empire, the further each city is from the seat of power and the more likely it is that corruption and dissent will emerge."

"Is that what happened here?" I asked.

"I am no student of history," he said dryly. "Perhaps when we reach Camelot you will find better answers to your questions, if you have such an interest in the history of these lands." He gave me a considering look. "Can you read?"

"No," I admitted. I wished at once that I had not admitted it, for it seemed to remind him that I was a mere peasant and that a knight should have no business speaking so to a peasant. He nodded curtly, muttered something under his breath about arrangements to be made, and rode away.

Merlin, displaying more horsemanship than I had seen from him to date, moved adroitly to fill his place next to me.

"Don't say anything," I told him.

"Wasn't going to say anything," he replied calmly. For now, it seemed, a truce held between us.

I looked over to where the lady Gilda was dismounting her horse with the assistance of one of Camelot’s knights. She and Eliffer would leave us here. I had not seen much of her, apart from her time at the fireside with Arthur, but I felt a certain amount of pity for her, being married to Eliffer. I had seen enough of the ways of the nobility to know that the marriage was almost certainly not of her choosing. It seemed to me that in many ways the lives of those of noble blood were not much better than my own.

“How’s your back?” I asked Merlin.

“Fine.” He was watching the royal party, his eyes intent.

The formalities finally came to an end and the nobles made their way into the keep. I hesitated, unwilling to follow where we were not required, but one of the squires of Camelot indicated that we should follow him and we did so, finding to our delight that we had a bed for the night even if it was nothing more luxurious than a warm hayloft. Merlin and I found our own corner; we could hear the squires complaining about their humble accommodation but we had no such complaints. We had food and we had ale and that was comfort enough.

With the horses stabled, and with no duties to distract us, Merlin and I had no qualms devoting our afternoon to exploring Danum. We had no money for the shops, of course, but we had eyes to look and wonder. The myriad market stalls carried all manner of goods; colourful fabrics, more food than I had ever seen before in my life, both raw and cooked, trinkets and adornments of all kinds. There were streets of great houses, each larger and grander than I had ever seen, built in a manner I had never seen before but which I would learn later was the way of Rome and still imposing despite the passing of years. By the number and appearance of the servants scurrying to and fro, the owners of these houses were clearly men of great wealth and influence. We no doubt lingered too long staring at these wondrous constructions, for more than one seemed to be inhabited by a most disgruntled occupant who wasted no time in expressing his displeasure at our very existence.

Lost in the wonder of it all, I was particularly fascinated by one building; I could not see what its purpose was. It was a long, low building, built in the Roman way, and it was still possible to see the remains of the colourful frescoes its builders had left behind. It did not seem to be a dwelling of any kind, yet it seemed busy enough.

"What is it, do you think?" I asked Merlin.

"It's the baths," he said after a moment's hesitation.

"What do you mean?"

"It's where you go to wash. There are pools inside, big enough for ten or more, where you can bathe."

I gave him a disbelieving look. "Why would you bathe _inside_?"

Damn him, he was laughing at me. "Not everyone bathes in the river."

I scrunched up my nose. "That sounds... I think I would prefer to bathe in the river."

He shrugged. “It’s warmer inside. The water is warm.”

That sounded positively unhealthy to me and I told him so. “Anyway,” I added after a moment’s thought. “Spare a thought for the servants there – they must spend half the day heating water and carrying it if the whole town bathes here!”

“They don’t carry the water,” he said patiently. “It’s heated and then it runs in pipes into the pools.”

Seeing that I still did not understand, he drew me into a side alley and used a stick to draw me a picture of these pipes, and of the fires they built under the floor stones of the baths to heat each room. It all sounded very much like sorcery to me but Merlin only shrugged when I told him so.

We went on, but I could not help but wonder how Merlin knew about such things. Did they have them in Deva as well? We had never really discussed his life before he came to Ealdor; he had never volunteered information and I had always been reluctant to press.

Done with the town, we made our way beyond the walls and down to the river bank itself. The banks were steep and rocky, the river fast-flowing and, when I tested it with a finger, as cold as winter ice.

"No swim today?" Merlin said teasingly.

"Perhaps later." I looked over at the road we had travelled. it was empty now; there were not many who dared to travel in these dangerous times, that was clear. "How’s your back? The truth."

Merlin shrugged, and winced at once at the movement. "Would you believe me if I said it's fine?"

"No."

He managed a disarming grin. "It’s not too bad."

"Let me look." I was taking a risk, I knew that. Our uneasy truce could so easily be broken with one misstep on my part.

To my surprise he complied, shrugging off his shirt, wincing again as he lifted his arms. I could not suppress my hiss of shock when I caught sight of the livid bruises marring his pale skin.

"It's not that bad, is it?" He sounded unsure, vulnerable. I wanted to touch him so badly, smooth away the hurt that Arthur had left. But I knew I could not do so, not until he gave me permission.

"No. It'll heal soon enough." I turned away, giving him his privacy if he wished it. “Come on, let’s get back.”

* * *

Lorin was waiting for us when we returned to our temporary quarters, a cup of ale he seemed to have appropriated from the squires - who were themselves clearly in a state of advanced inebriation - in his hand and a beaming smile on his face.

“There you are!” I did not miss the sharp look he gave Merlin. “I was wondering where you’d got to.”

“We had a look round,” I explained quickly.

“See anything you like?” The look he gave me was rather more pointed and I could feel myself blushing.

“We were just looking around.”

Lorin took a long draught of his ale and grinned at us. “Well, you can do more than _looking_ tonight, boys. Prince Arthur may be determined to put his knights through sword practice in the potters’ field this evening but I have other entertainment in mind.”

His lascivious grin left no doubt as to what kind of entertainment he had in mind; I could feel the flush – which had retreated a little – return full-force.

“No, thank you,” Merlin said politely. “I think I’d rather get an early night.”

The sun hadn’t even set yet. I tried to give him an encouraging look – a night, or even an hour or two! with one of Danum’s whores might do him the world of good – but Merlin avoided my eyes, deliberately turning his back and busying himself with his pack instead.

“What about you?” Lorin demanded.

I looked again at Merlin. His back was stiff with resolution. “All right.”

“Good lad.” Lorin rose to his feet and clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on, then.”

Too late I realised the stumbling block to what he was proposing. “I-I have no money.”

Lorin chuckled. “I’ll stand you this one,” he said amiably. “The pickings from the raiders were good enough … well, I reckon you deserve some good fortune.”

I wavered one last time. “Merlin…”

“Go.” He did not even look round.

And so I did.

That night was a blur – somewhere around my fourth ale in the comfort of one of Danum’s less reputable establishments the world became a warm and pleasant place and the girl – Megan? Maire? – pressing up against me was soft and pliable and I needed little encouragement to take her hand and lead her to the curtained alcove Lorin had paid for on my behalf. And if my eyes were wet with tears as we lay together quietly afterwards then she was kind enough not to say a word.

It was close to midnight when I rejoined Lorin in the main room. I was tired by then and ready for bed but he was still remarkably sharp eyed given the amount of ale he had drunk.

"You've done?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "Let's be on our way then. Stay here too long and they will charge us for the air we breathe."

Outside in the streets it was dark but not silent. Evidently the rest of Eliffer’s party were as determined to enjoy themselves in Danum as Lorin had been and from every tavern we passed I could hear the loud chatter and bawdy songs of the soldiers.

"Enjoyed yourself tonight?" Lorin asked cheerily, seemingly immune to the effects of the ale.

"Yes." What else could I say?

“She was a pretty girl.”

“Yes.” Gods, I was embarrassingly close to weeping again and I angrily blinked the tears back.

If Lorin realised – I prefer to think that the night was too dark for him to see anything – then he was kind enough not to say anything about it. He gave me my peace for a moment and then he clapped me companionably on the shoulder. "It’s for the best, you'll see. Take your mind off things."

 _Take your mind off Merlin_ , I translated automatically. Lorin was no fool.

"He's my friend."

"And a _close_ friend, no doubt." I was glad that it was too dark to see the knowing smirk I knew was on his face. "But he is not for you."

"And why do you say that?" I demanded, stung.

Lorin chuckled. "It’s no slight on you. That boy has a greater destiny than you or I."

"What, so you can see the future now?"

"I can see enough," the Silurian said equably. "And while you may think that he is all you want now, it won't always be like that. Your destiny lies on a different path to his."

"I'm not listening to you," I said mutinously but he only laughed.

"As you wish." We were close to our lodgings now, and by the noise – and the overwhelming reek of ale – the squires were somehow still awake. "You go on up and sleep. I'll send this lot to bed."

I obediently climbed up to the hayloft and made my way over to my bed. Despite the lateness of the hour, there was enough light cast from the squires’ impromptu party down below for me to find my way. Merlin was asleep, curled into his own bed roll, but I could not help but notice that the boots I had seen him remove before I left were now in a different place and his jacket -- which had been perfectly dry when I left the hayloft -- was damp with the light rain that had begun falling as darkness closed in on Danum.

I stared at him for a long while but Merlin did not stir.

There had always been secrets between us, but I had never before felt it as keenly as I did that night.

* * *

Morning saw Merlin and I woken long before either of us would have preferred to rise. It seemed that Arthur had no wish to linger in Danum; perhaps, given the state of the squires, that was for the best. I was happy to leave said squires to vomit but Merlin was in a kinder mood than I and, indeed, seemed happy to be doing something as he hurried cheerfully to and fro, fetching water for those who felt able to drink anything, and buckets for those who did not.

“You their servant now?” I asked sourly.

Merlin patted me on the head. “Do _you_ want some water? Or a bucket?”

“I’m not hung-over,” I lied, bending down to buckle my boots and nearly falling over as I did so.

“So I see.” Merlin waited patiently for me to stand straight again. “Sit down over there and I’ll find you some breakfast.”

“No food,” I said weakly.

He brought me some anyway – bread just starting to go stale, and a cup of water. I nibbled at the bread with some reluctance but Merlin hovered until I had eaten it all and I realised – to my surprise – that I did feel a little better.

“Think you can sit on a horse with being sick yet?”

“Of course I can,” I muttered, adding, as an afterthought:

“Let’s hope we’re not travelling too rapidly though.”

Merlin smiled and went to fuss with our packs. For want of anything better to do I watched him, trying to tune out the sound of one of the squires being sick down below.

“Do you think any of them will be able to ride today?”

“I’d be surprised if any of them can put their own boots on,” Merlin said cheerfully. “That’s what happens when you drink too much.”

“Good thing you didn’t come then,” I retorted, stung. “One _sip_ of ale and you’re … you’re well away.”

Merlin’s features had hardened for a moment – he knew very well when I had almost said – but he forced a smile. “Yeah, it is. Otherwise there wouldn’t be anyone to fetch your breakfast.”

“Thanks for that,” I mumbled. The relief I felt when he smiled a genuine smile in return was so great I could have wept.

“Come on; we should go and load up the packs.” He hefted mine as he spoke, handing it over to me. He moved more easily than he had the previous evening but I still caught the slight hesitation, the tiny flinch, at the movement. “We don’t want to keep the prince waiting.”

I followed him down the ladder and I allowed myself a brief moment of amusement at the sight of the squires sprawled in the hay, trying with varying success to dress themselves for the day.

“Is it time to go already?” one, a scrawny boy of no more than twelve or thirteen whose face was an interesting shade of pale green, asked feebly.

“Oh yes,” Merlin said with that same excruciatingly irritating cheer. “We’re on our way now.”

The boy whimpered and collapsed back into the hay.

“They’re never going to be ready in time, are they?” Merlin shaded his eyes as we stepped out into the street. “Do you think we should pour water on them?”

“I don’t think we’ll need to,” I said grimly.

“Oh?” Merlin turned, confused. His face cleared as he saw what I was pointing at. “Ah.”

We fled the scene before Sir Kay arrived but we could still hear his voice as we hurried through the streets of Danum, a towering roar that probably had the squires on their feet and dressed before they realised what was happening.

Our horses were ready and waiting for us when we arrived at the square in front of the gate of the fort; evidently someone else was keen to see us on our way as quickly as possible. Arthur and the remainder of his knights were standing in a group and it seemed that some kind of meeting was in progress and I was loathe to get too close to them. Of Eliffer there was no sign.

“What shall we do now?”

I shrugged. “Wait? It’s not like we’re going to set off on our own, is it?”

We loaded up our packs while we waited and then, since the knights showed no signs of being done with their meeting, we amused ourselves with an impromptu game of quoits using three sturdy twigs driven into the ground for pins and four slighter twigs bent into an approximation of a ring and then tied with grass for quoits. By the time we had this all prepared we had attracted a small crowd of onlookers and I took the opportunity to show off, but not before giving Merlin a very pointed warning about using his magic to cheat.

“Wasn’t even thinking about it,” he said brightly.

“Liar.”

“I can beat you anyway.”

“Merlin, you’ve never beaten me, not once.”

I was aware that the knights were watching, that even Arthur had turned his attention from the preparations for departure. We were not destined to find the winner that day however, for all too soon Sir Kay arrived at the head of a column of quiet and thoroughly chastened squires.

“Where’s the baggage train?” Merlin asked. I was wondering much the same thing.

“There is none,” one of the more robust squires said helpfully. He was a few years younger than me, of unmistakably noble blood but apparently gracious enough to speak to anyone who had been prepared to clear away his vomit. “Prince Arthur says it would only slow us down.”

“And most of it was Ebrauc’s anyway,” his companion, a sturdy thick-set boy, added.

“The lady Gilda’s?”

The boy stifled a laugh. “Prince Eliffer’s.”

Apparently our low opinion of Eliffer was shared by others. That in itself was heartening, but I could not help probing further.

“He’s not the fighter Prince Arthur is?”

An amused look turned to scorn. “There’s no contest. You’ll see it, when we get back to Camelot. Just wait until you see the prince on the training ground. It’s a sight to take your breath away.”

Merlin was flushed to the roots of his hair. It was an interesting look for him.

“Facing him is the final test for a knight,” the first boy added. “And the worst! You don’t have to beat him; you just have to not be beaten.”

“Do many fail?” I asked, fascinated despite myself.

The boy nodded vigorously. “My older brother took the test three times before he passed it finally. He said he would rather face every monster in the kingdom rather than take it again.”

I would have liked to have asked more questions but there was not time, for the knights were summoning their squires to ready their mounts, while Lorin was beckoning me from the other side of the square.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked jovially when I drew near. “Not too sick?” He himself looked as hale and hearty as a man who had gone to bed at sundown and innocently slept the night through.

“Not at all,” I lied.

He winked at me, not fooled for a moment. “I came to wish you good luck. And to give you this.” He held out his hand.

His pendant. The pendant of Camulos.

“Take it,” he said insistently when I made no move to do so. “May it bring you the good fortune it has me.”

“I…” I stopped; I did not know what to say. “I can’t take it. You need it.”

“Take it.” He seized hold of my hand and closed my fingers around the pendant. “Protection for your travels. You need it, so far from home.”

It hit me hard in that moment; we had already travelled further from Ealdor than I had ever been but Lorin’s cheerful company had grounded me somehow, given me a link to a feeling of security I had not known I needed until I was faced with its loss. Ridiculous though it was, I could not help wishing I was staying in Danum with Eliffer’s men instead of going on alone.

“You will do well enough,” he told me kindly, as if he knew exactly what thoughts were going through my mind. “Go to Camelot, make what you will of it, find yourself a pretty wife if you wish, and then take yourself back to your village and farm your fields.”

There was an embarrassing lump in my throat, shameful tears in my eyes. “Perhaps I shall.”

His hand was still closed over mine. “Take care, Will,” he said. “I will pray that you return home safe.”

“And I you,” I mumbled.

Lorin nodded to me, and then he did me the grace of walking away so that I would not have to. I watched him go, not wanting to look away. I think I knew then that I would not see him again.

By the time I got back to the horses the knights were mounted and the squires were scurrying around in preparation for our departure, while Merlin was standing by his horse gazing across the square.

“There’s no point in looking all doe-eyed at him,” I snapped, irritated beyond measure when I realised what he was looking at. “Or have you forgotten what he did to you?”

Merlin’s head had whipped round during my little rant, a glare to rival Hunith’s on his face. “I am not ‘doe-eyed’.”

“No? You do a good impression of it then.” I swung myself into the saddle, anger giving me a grace I usually lacked. “Perhaps you _like_ him beating you up.”

Merlin went white but that only fuelled my anger.

“Princes and kings, they’re all the same, Merlin. They don’t care about the likes of you and me. Or do you think Prince Arthur’s going to be bringing you _flowers_?” I was sneering, and I hated myself for it but I could not stop. I wanted to hurt him.

“You certainly didn’t,” he retorted.

I opened my mouth to reply with something that could probably never have been taken back but at that moment the commotion increased and I realised that we were on the move; Arthur at the head of the column with a dark-haired woman at his side that could only be his aunt, Lady Helen, and the knights riding behind.

“Come on then,” I hissed at Merlin. “Unless you want to be left behind.”

He glared at me again but mounted his own horse with the same dexterity I had noticed before and with the words said in anger still crackling between us we departed Danum, never to return to that place.


	11. Part Ten

We were less than two hours from Danum when the column halted without warning. I could not see the reason for this sudden stop, but word eventually filtered down the column that a peasant from a nearby village had come with a message for the prince.

That in itself was intriguing – what would a peasant want with Arthur unless to give him warning of an attack by raiders, a prospect which made my blood run cold? My uneasiness was not eased by the sight of Arthur and ten of the knights galloping away across the neatly-tended fields to our right – the north.

Left to our own devices, those of us who were left with nothing productive to do found our own diversions. It was clear that no one wanted to get too comfortable in case we were in fact about to be attacked, but as the minutes passed it seemed less and less likely that anything so exciting would happen and the knights began talking amongst themselves as casually as they might in the nearest tavern while the squires amused themselves with guessing games and riddles.

Merlin and I waited, a painfully awkward silence between us.

“He _is_ a prat,” Merlin offered eventually.

The silence dragged again.

“He’s not as bad as Eliffer.”

That finally stirred me out of sullen silence. “You can’t trust him,” I pointed out.

“That’s not the point,” Merlin said, more reasonably than I would have liked. “This isn’t about him, this is about me and you.”

I had a horrible feeling I had experienced this same conversation before – with Poppy. Then again, Merlin had always been a bit of a girl about some things.

Not everything though.

“There isn’t a ‘me and you’,” I said stiffly.

“You’re my best friend…”

“Spare me.”

He was quiet for a while, and I was starting to hope that he would just give up the idea of discussing this, whatever _this_ was.

“You saved my life once,” he said eventually.

“And you saved mine. We’re even.” That was important, in my mind at least. My father had always taught me that debts should be repaid.

He smiled; a somewhat unsteady and tremulous smile but a smile nonetheless. “Good.”

“I still don’t approve though.”

The smile only wavered a little. “I know.”

“He’s arrogant, self-obsessed and a bully.”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed. “Still not as bad as Eliffer though.”

I winced. “Oh no.”

“I mean…” Merlin leaned towards me, lowering his voice still further. “It’s not like I _like_ him. He’s a complete prat. I couldn’t stand being in the same room as him for more than a few minutes.”

I shook my head at him. “So why, then? Because he looks good in his armour?”

Merlin shrugged, and then grimaced as the movement reminded him of what Arthur had done the day before. “You said that, not me.”

I laughed; I could not help myself.

"I'll give you that."

Merlin abruptly straightened up. "Look!"

Arthur and his knights were returning to the column but they did not return alone. There were three bedraggled men with them, each tied between the horses of two of the knights. As they drew closer, I felt my throat tighten.

Next to me, Merlin was pale. "They’re-"

"Raiders," I mumbled.

"What are they doing here?"

"If I knew that..." I trailed off, not quite believing the evidence of my eyes. Surely it could not be!

"What?"

There was no mistaking the man tied between the horses of the two knights who rode behind Arthur. He was thinner than he had been the last time I had seen him, his face streaked with blood and dirt, his clothes torn and dirty … but there was no mistaking him.

It was Agar.

* * *

Merlin, I think, suspected a great deal, but to my relief he said nothing as we continued our journey towards Camelot. There had been some discussion between Arthur and his knights about the possibility of going back to Danum but it seemed Arthur was disinclined to renew his acquaintance with his cousin and soon enough the captives were put on pack horses - Arthur not wanting to slow our journey by insisting that they walk – and we were on our way once again. The prince was clearly wary of his prisoners; their hands were bound behind their backs and a knight rode beside each one, his sword drawn and resting across his pommel.

Meanwhile I was enduring an agony of indecision since I did not know whether to admit to knowing Agar or not. He had not once looked in my direction so at least I had been spared the dilemma of whether to acknowledge him or not but I could not continue this; it would undoubtedly be some time before we reached Camelot and our camp would not be so big that I could avoid him forever.

"Why do you think Arthur wants to take them back to Camelot?" Merlin asked when we halted for lunch.

"As hostages perhaps?" It was the only reason I could think of.

"Maybe he wants a more public execution," Merlin mused.

The very thought of it made me feel sick. "Perhaps."

“Though it wouldn’t be much of an example in Camelot,” he went on, seemingly oblivious to my dismay. “He’d do better to do it here.”

“Do you want them dead?” I could not be sure how Merlin viewed the captured raiders. He had looked shaken at first, true enough, but he was remarkably composed now and he spoke of them quite calmly.

Merlin considered that. I hoped he did not recognise any of the raiders; aside from Agar I recognised the other two as being amongst those who had treated the slaves the worst. I do not think I would have shed a tear if Arthur had chosen to summarily dispatch either of them but Agar … Agar was a different matter entirely.

“They’re not much of a threat now,” he said eventually.

“It would be different to kill them in cold blood?”

“I think so.” He regarded me quizzically. “Don’t you?”

I thought of houses burning, murdered children, tortured slaves. “I don’t suppose they’d show us the same mercy,” I mumbled.

“No,” he agreed, and I remembered too how he had challenged Eliffer for killing the other captured raider.

I was grateful to press on after that. We made better time for a while but the pace soon slowed again. As we travelled further west the landscape began to change; we left behind the more open plains of Danum and entered instead a landscape of steep hills and deep valleys. Picking our way along the treacherous rock-strewn paths cost us much time but our companions did not seem to mind it.

It made me uneasy, this land. I found myself constantly looking around, wondering if someone might be lurking behind those rocks, or within that fissure in a cliff face. The wary vigilance of the knights did not do much to set my mind at rest.

“The closer we get to Camelot, the better,” our friendly squire said helpfully after I had started – for the third time – at the sight of a rabbit.

“It’s not safe here?”

He shrugged. “These are dangerous times. But even the lawless men fear Camelot’s power.”

“It is so feared then?” I looked around. We were crossing the floor of a valley during this conversation, and I could not help continuously looking up at the ridges to either side as we did so. It was the same feeling that had swept over me on entering that accursed forest on the road to Eboracum – the feeling that there were unseen eyes watching me.

“Of course.” He sounded surprised that I did not know.

“Tell us about Camelot,” Merlin said unexpectedly. He had not spoken for a while; I had thought him to be half-asleep.

And so the squire – whose name turned out to be Rufus – did. He told us of Uther Pendragon, who had brought peace to the kingdom and driven magic from the land (Merlin and I exchanged glances at that but fortunately Rufus was too engrossed in his tale to notice), and of the great castle of Camelot itself. He painted a glorious picture, it is true, but I was not too taken with it and I hoped Merlin was not either.

One look at his face told me that the idiot was completely enraptured by the tale.

“The castle stands on a cliff face,” Rufus went on proudly. “On three sides the cliffs fall away so sharply that no man could ever scale them. The castle can only be entered from one gate, and the path to it is a steep climb from the town – be grateful that you will not be walking it. Why, when you stand on the walls of the castle and look down at the town, it’s like looking at a child’s toy town!”

I, who had never had any such toys or the time to play with them, forced a smile. “I look forward to seeing it then.”

“You will be amazed,” he promised. “Men come from all over to Camelot. Great lords from every kingdom.”

“That must cost a lot,” I commented, thinking about the retinue a prince seemed to require. If Camelot played host to the nobility of every kingdom…

“Camelot is wealthy,” Rufus said dismissively, as if it were of no consequence. “We grow easily enough food for our own people and we mine lead and fluorspar.”

I could not help a wry smile at that – Rufus had almost certainly never been near a mine in his life – but there was no stopping him.

“Before Uther came, we were a poor kingdom. My father says without him we would be a vassal state by now.”

“As long as the tin keeps coming from Kernow,” another boy, sour-faced, interjected.

“Why wouldn’t it come?” Rufus shot back. “We pay a fair price for it. And we trade our pewter with every kingdom in the land. No, Uther has made Camelot strong. ”

“What of the queen?” Merlin asked.

Rufus blinked, clearly startled by the question. “Of course, you do not know…” he said slowly. “The lady Igraine died in giving birth to the prince. He never knew her.”

Merlin’s eyes went very wide and I did not need magic to see his thoughts. I cursed every deity I could think of and every hair on Arthur Pendragon’s head and took my foot out of the stirrup for a moment to kick Merlin’s leg.

Rufus did not even notice. He babbled on for a while, happily telling us about his family, his inability to master the crossbow, and his thinly-disguised adoration for Arthur. Merlin was doing that doe-eyed expression again and it annoyed me so much I had to drop behind for a while, just so that I would not have to look at it.

Merlin did not even notice that I had gone, which soured my mood still further.

I waited until we had made camp that night before I dared go near Agar. Arthur had chosen a clearing on the edge of a small wood as our camp for the night, and with the squires busily setting up the camp and collecting firewood and tending to the horses there was nothing for either Merlin or myself to do. Arthur, it seemed, was prepared to sleep under the stars with the rest of us tonight; the only tent was reserved for the lady Helen, who seemed determined to keep to herself. I had barely seen her that day and the evening was no different.

As carefully as I could I edged my way around the encampment towards the tree the three captives had been tied to. The light was fading but I could still easily find my way. The other two captives were talking between themselves, heads close together, but Agar sat a little apart, leaning his head against the tree trunk. His eyes were closed and I hesitated; was he asleep?

“Come out, Will,” he said, just as I was considering leaving, and I flushed with the knowledge that he had been watching me all along. He opened his eyes properly as I approached, regarding me with something like amusement.

“Have you grown taller?” he asked as I crouched at his side.

His casual demeanour threw me off balance; this was a conversation of equals, not a conversation between a free man and a captive whose life was surely in mortal danger.

“I thought you were dead,” I blurted out, torn between anger and relief that he had not been broken by whatever had happened to him since I had seen him last.

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Thought or hoped?”

“No, I…” I was too embarrassed to go on. “I’m glad you’re alive.” Then, “what are you doing _here_?”

“Going south,” he said after a brief pause. “We were the only survivors; there was no point us heading for our ship. We go south, with the hope of finding our kinsmen.”

I thought about it: other raiding parties. Of course there would be more. I risked a glance at the other two raiders. They had ceased their own conversation and were watching me with ill-disguised hostility.

“They don’t speak your language,” Agar reassured me. “Say what you will in front of them.”

“Won’t they think you a traitor?”

He snorted. “They recognise you as my bedmate, Will.”

I blushed so deeply I wondered that I did not fall down from lack of blood to other parts of my body. To cover my embarrassment I resorted to anger.

“And what would you do if you found your kinsmen?” I demanded. “Go back home? Or slaughter some more of us?”

“Going home was the idea,” he said calmly. “Before we met your prince, anyway.” He hesitated for a moment. “I’m glad you’re alive, Will. I thought you dead that night. ” His voice caught a little and that, more than anything, cut through the churning emotions inside me to the heart of the matter.

“You saved my life.” Even thinking about what might have happened if Agar had not sent me away that night, if he had not convinced Hwala to let me take Merlin too, made me shudder. “You knew, didn’t you? That there was something wrong?”

“Yes,” he admitted. He flexed his shoulders and winced.

“If you had not known-”

“But I did, and here you are,” Agar said, his voice tinged with that gruffness that I knew meant he was embarrassed and did not wish to show it. “And the other one, did he survive?”

“Yes, Merlin’s here.” I gestured in Merlin’s general direction.

“Good,” he grunted. “That one-”

“If you say anything about destiny I’m leaving,” I said irritably.

He stared at me for a moment and then threw back his head and laughed. “Does he have as much to say as you do?”

“More.”

“I pity the others of your village then,” he said dryly. “The two of you must have caused many headaches.”

There were retorts I could have made to that but they would have been cruel and I did not want to argue with him. Seeing him alive and apparently whole made me happier than I had been in a while. “Yes, we probably did.”

“But now you are all grown up?”

Was this a test of sorts? I could not be sure, and I was too tired and my body was aching from the day’s riding to think clearly.

“Maybe.”

“Hmm.” He gave me one of his considering looks, and those too I had missed. “Do you have my knife still?”

I did not, of course, and I told him a carefully edited version of the tale of how I had come to lose it. I still felt guilty over the loss; the knife had clearly held meaning for him and he had not needed to give it to me.

“It must have been hard-going,” he remarked when I was done.

“What must?”

Agar leaned forward, his face close to mine. “Walking all the way back to your village with a broken ankle,” he said softly.

He knew; oh, he _knew_. I swallowed painfully. “It was,” I mumbled.

He continued to watch me for a moment, and then he drew his head back. “Well then,” he remarked. “Since you are a man of wisdom now, you should find your bed for the night, before these brave knights realise that you know me. I do not think you would like to answer their questions. About many things, yes?”

His words made me start a little; images flashed before my mind – knights pursuing us, a desperate fall, death and destruction come faster than any sword could ever bring. I told myself that Agar could not know – or guess – the full truth of it but regardless of that he was right: I did not want to answer any questions put to me about our time with the raiders, or about my willingness to speak with one of them.

“Yes.” I got to my feet. “Can I … can I get you something to eat?”

His face softened. “Your prince is a fair man. We have been given food.”

“Then I’ll leave you,” I said awkwardly.

I walked away, his soft ‘good night, Will’ following me on my way.

* * *

I did not sleep well that night, waking more than once and twice managing to elbow Merlin in the face, until he exclaimed exasperatedly that I had once been a much better bed partner, to the considerable amusement of the nearest knight awake on watch.

When I finally woke for good it was raining, the same gentle rain that had fallen during our time in Danum, so light it was hardly noticed and yet capable of soaking a man to the skin. I stumbled from my bed roll, shivering with cold, and found myself surrounded by a sudden commotion.

I grabbed Rufus as he ran past, flushed and out of breath. “What’s going on?”

“Three of the knights have gone missing. They were on watch and now they’re gone.” He was close to tears.

“Oh.” Not knowing what else to say, I let him go and he at once turned and hurried away. I turned to Merlin, who was folding up his own bedroll.

“What do you think?”

“That we should be away as soon as possible?”

I shivered. The trees that had seemed so innocuous when we made camp seemed to have altered somehow over night. They looked older, withered; I scolded myself for such fancies but I was still glad to see that Agar was apparently unharmed.

Arthur was grim-faced as he strode through the camp, throwing out orders to the knights. In no little time we were ready to move on. This surprised me a little; I had expected more of a search for the missing knights. When I spotted Rufus again I rode over to ask him.

“Sir Morholt f-found them,” he mumbled. He looked almost as green as he had done the previous morning.

“Dead?” I asked sharply.

He nodded. “Murdered.”

What could be said to that? I was glad to be away from that place, and it seemed the others were too. Rather than go further into the trees, Arthur took us back the way we had come for a while, so that we skirted the wood itself and found another path instead.

"Was there sorcery there, do you think?" I asked Merlin.

He thought for a moment. "Not the wood itself," he said slowly. "Something in it, perhaps."

"We're well away from it then."

But it seemed I had spoken too soon, for we had not been riding more than half an hour when a fog as thick as that which had so hindered our flight from the battle outside Eboracum descended upon our path, slowing us to little more than a crawl. That lingering unease, which I managed to put from my mind for a while, returned as strong as ever. The fog was so thick that I could see nothing of our companions save the faintest outline of the knight riding directly in front of us. The fog muffled sound too, so that all I could hear was the soft hoof beats of my own horse, my harsh, too-rapid breaths, and the pounding of blood in my ears.

And then I realised that I could no longer see the outline of the knight in front of us; I turned to say something to Merlin, perhaps ask him if he could somehow disperse this accursed fog, but there was no sign of him either. I urged my horse on, hoping to catch up with the column.

The column was not there; it was as if all the knights, the squires, Lady Helen, Prince Arthur himself, had all simply vanished into the swirling fog.

I panicked; I am not ashamed to admit it. Our senses are so much a part of us; how many of our nightmares, the monsters that haunt our dreams, depend for their terror on our inability to see or hear them? I was alone, I could see no further than an arm's length in front of me, and now I could hear nothing save for the frantic pounding of my heart. I wished desperately for a weapon of some kind but I had only the small knife I carried in my pack.

I reined in and tried to work out what I should do. The path we had been following was not much of a trail, seemingly owing more to the prince’s sense of direction that anything else. I could not truly discern whether I was even still following it or not. Even if I had known this land there were no landmarks to guide me on my way and I might easily unknowingly wander over a cliff if I continued blindly on my way.

I froze at the sound of what sounded suspiciously like a muffled cry of pain. Someone had fallen – possible if unlikely – or we were under attack under cover of the fog. Either I could either sit here and wait for the fog to lift, or I could head towards the direction from which the sound had come and hope that it signalled friend and not foe.

I chose the latter course.

How far I rode I do not know. There was no sense of time or distance or even whether I was travelling uphill or downhill. The fog was deceptive; more than once I thought I caught sight of figures in the fog but when I turned towards them they melted away as if they had never been.

Another cry, nearer this time. I slowed my horse a little, and I was soon glad I had done so for we nearly tumbled over the slumped body of one of Arthur’s knights, a ghastly wound in his back leaving no doubt as to the manner of his death.

I have never considered myself to be the bravest of men. Bravery, I think, requires the ability not to think too much on death and I have always been too ready to think and brood on such matters, too quick to ask questions.

I nearly screamed when another figure emerged from the fog; I managed a choked, spluttering sound an instant before the man seized the reins of my horse and brought me to a halt.

“Quiet!” he hissed and I nearly wept with relief for it was Agar.

Agar who was unbound and who carried a sword in his free hand.

“What are you-”

“Quiet!” He lifted his sword and levelled it in my direction, a clear warning.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“Saving your life. Again.” The last was added almost as an afterthought. “Here.”

He leaned over the body of the dead knight and removed the sword still clutched in a nerveless hand. I recoiled when he offered it to me.

“Take it,” he insisted. “You may need it.”

I took it gingerly. The grip still bore a whisper of warmth.

“What’s going on?”

“We were attacked, what do you think?”

“And you got free?”

“Yes.” Agar did not elaborate. “Now let me up, and let’s be on our way.” He pulled at my leg.

“Hey!” I batted his hand away. “It’s my horse.”

“And I am the better rider,” he retorted, unruffled by my complaint. “Now move.”

Which is how I ended up perched again behind Agar, cursing him under my breath while trying not to drop the sword he had given me. He ignored my complaints for the most part, but he did reach back and swat my leg when I became too loud.

The fog was thicker now, and I shivered; surely this could not be natural?

We passed other bodies: two knights, three squires, and the two other raiders. Agar showed the same blank acceptance for all but I was moved to say something when we came across the dead raiders.

“I’m sorry.”

He seemed startled. “Why? You have no reason to be sorry for their deaths.”

“They were-” I stopped, not knowing how to phrase it, but it seemed Agar had understood anyway for he said quietly:

“Thank you.”

Finally we came across one who was not dead; indeed he was very much alive and furious with it and it was only my quick cry of “Prince Arthur!” that stopped him from taking Agar’s head clean off his shoulders.

“Identify yourself!” Arthur demanded as he jumped down from the boulder he had been standing on. Not only had he lost his mount somewhere along the way, he had lost his fine cloak too and his face was pale and pinched with cold.

I slid awkwardly from the horse so he could get a good look at me. “I am William of Ealdor.”

“I know you.” His eyes slid from me to Agar. “And you’re one of the raiders we captured. What is your name?”

I began to mumble some evasive lie at the same instant as Agar said clearly:

“My name is Agar, my lord.”

“ _Your_ lord?” Arthur’s face twisted for a moment. “I doubt that.” His gaze seemed to have fixed on the sword Agar carried. “Have you anything to do with … well, whatever this is?”

“No,” Agar replied simply.

Arthur’s expression became more considering. “You speak our language.”

“Yes, my lord,” Agar admitted.

“You were bound.”

“Yes.”

“And now you are not.”

“All true, my lord.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Do you mean me harm?” he demanded.

Agar considered that for a moment, long enough to make me nervous. “I wish nothing more than to return to my own land, my lord,” he said at last. “If you do not stand in my way … then I mean you no harm.”

Arthur nodded. “That’s fair,” he agreed.

There was a palpable easing of tension; I let out the breath I had not realised I had been holding.

“Then what do we do now, my lord?” Agar asked.

Arthur looked faintly surprised by Agar’s deference but he quickly recovered his wits. “We should make for high ground. With any luck we can climb out of this fog.”

Agar nodded. “A good plan, my lord.”

And that was how we came to be walking in company with Arthur, prince of Camelot. Agar offered him the horse but Arthur would have none of it. That surprised me a little – I had expected him to be perfectly willing to ride while others walked – but it was dawning on me that perhaps my initial opinion of Arthur Pendragon had been mistaken.

Then I thought of Merlin’s back and loathed him all over again.

“Your friend talks too much.”

It took me a moment to realise that Arthur was addressing me, and another moment to work out what he was referring to. It coincided so closely with my own thoughts that I found myself flushing.

“Yes.”

“Do you think I was too hard on him?”

Arthur was watching me closely and it crossed my mind to wonder why a prince would care about my opinion. “Perhaps.”

His face hardened. “My cousin wanted to see him dead. I saved his life. He should be grateful to me.”

“I’m sure he’s very grateful,” I said awkwardly.

Arthur, to my relief, said no more on the subject. In truth I could not tell whether we were travelling uphill or downhill but Arthur seemed to know where we were going, or perhaps he was simply good at pretending that he did.

He stopped suddenly, a hand raised in warning.

"What's that?"

There were shapes in the fog ahead. My hopes that they might be knights of Camelot were quickly dashed; instead of mounted knights, we faced an unruly gaggle of lean, swarthy men, all with swords drawn and clearly wishing us ill.

"Identify yourself!" Arthur demanded.

Not one of them spoke a word, but they began to advance on us. I gripped my sword tightly, but as I did so I realised there were more of them to both sides and I knew without looking around that there were still more to the rear.

"I am Prince Arthur of Camelot," Arthur said imperiously, stepping forward to put himself between them and Agar and myself. I could have told the prince that the commanding tone wouldn't work with these ruffians; they were clearly lawless men who had no respect for the rule of Camelot or any other kingdom. I had heard of such outlaw gangs; although they had never troubled to venture as far east as Ealdor travellers had from time to time brought word of attacks on wealthy merchants or on defenceless villages. We had listened and made expressions of horror but not one of us had ever thought to face such men.

Yet here I was, and I was looking at my death.

"Hold on tight," Agar muttered to me.

"You're not going to run?" I said, horrified. "We can't leave Arthur."

"His life has no greater value than yours," he said cryptically.

There are surely better times, better places for an epiphany to strike. Until that very moment I might have agreed with Agar's assessment and even with the benefit of hindsight I cannot give a simple reason for my change of heart. I had no reason to love the prince and every reason to wish him harm for what he had done to Merlin, but it suddenly seemed to me that there was no more important thing in all the world than to keep Arthur from harm at the hands of these men.

Perhaps I realised – without understanding my own reasoning – that Arthur’s life _mattered_ , and not only because he was the only son of Uther Pendragon and no man lives for ever and there could be no worse future than the likes of Eliffer ruling over Ebrauc, Elmet and Camelot combined. Perhaps some part of me knew then that Arthur was destined to be something more than just another pretty prince.

A prince who at that moment, damn him, was speaking again.

"Are you too cowardly to face me?"

One of the men to the front of us, who seemed to be their leader, snarled and hefted his sword. I could feel the tension in Agar, matching that in my own body.

I do not know to this day what caught my attention, why I turned my head at that moment in time to see one of the other members of the gang level a bow at Arthur's back. There was no time to shout a warning; I launched myself sideways, bearing Arthur bodily to the ground as the arrow passed a hairsbreadth above my shoulder. We landed hard; the breath was driven from my lungs and I felt sure I had broken my cheekbone on that cursed armour the prince wore. Almost at once I realised that there was worse, for in striking the ground the prince had hit his head on a rock and now lay unconscious.

The gang were closing in around us and I had let my sword fall. I was dimly aware of Agar jumping down, of him roaring something I could not understand, but all at once the air around us seemed to crackle, as it does before a storm, and a great wind rose up as if from nowhere, as cold and bitter as a winter gale.

I knew the cause of it without needing to look; only magic could conjure a gale like this. The men who had so threatened our lives struggled against it for a brief moment but they were driven back by the fury of the storm. Agar had the presence of mind to quickly drop to his knees beside me and hold tight to what little grass grew in that place but the others were simply swept away.

When that unnatural wind finally died away, I finally dared to raise my head. I saw, as I had known I would, Merlin standing there, one hand still outstretched, faded gold still shading his eyes.

Our attackers were gone, and the fog that had so shielded them was gone also. I saw that we stood at the foot of a shallow ravine; the fog had been so thick that I had not seen the nearest wall of rock, though it was less than the height of a man from where I lay.

Agar rose to his feet, staring at Merlin. " _Wikka_..." he breathed.

That was bad enough, but then Arthur groaned and sat up and shook his head and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like _sorcery_. I stumbled towards Merlin, seeking to shield him from their view until the gold had faded completely. He seemed faintly stunned by what he had wrought and it took three repetitions of his name before his eyes -- now thankfully entirely blue -- focused on me.

"What did you do?" I whispered.

He looked at me helplessly and I realised that once again he simply did not _know_ ; his powers were neither learned nor practised but were instead as much a part of him as the blood that flowed in his veins. I think that was the moment I truly understood how important it was that Merlin was delivered safely to Camelot. Such elemental power needed control, which Merlin did not have, but if in Camelot dwelt someone who could help Merlin find that control then it was to Camelot that Merlin must go.

“You!”

We both froze at the sound of Arthur’s voice. Merlin had gone very white.

"I know magic when I see it." To my horror, Arthur was getting to his feet and retrieving his sword from where it had fallen. "One of you made that happen. Which of you was it?"

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered.

Arthur glared at me, hefting his sword menacingly. “They said as much…” he said, as much to himself as to us. “I thought they were mistaken; why would a sorcerer let himself be held captive by raiders?”

And there it was – Arthur remembered us from that dreadful day before the walls of Eboracum and he remembered what had been said. Merlin had been unknowing of what had passed but he surely understood enough to realise the deadly peril we now stood in. We looked at each other.

"Arthur..." Merlin began and there was enough left of my wits to wonder about that.

Arthur’s glare turned to him. The prince was flushed, though whether with anger or with fever I could not be sure. “The truth!”

It is said that a man's fate may turn on the smallest thing - a word, a glance, a moment in time that changes everything. And the fate of the most lowly can decide that of a kingdom.

"It was me."

The matching expressions of shock on their faces would have been amusing at any other time.

"You? _You're_ a sorcerer?" Arthur's disbelief was almost insulting but then I couldn't quite believe I had said it either.

"Yes, that's me." I did not dare to as much as glance in Agar's direction. "I'm a sorcerer."

"Will-" Merlin began despairingly but I quickly cut him off.

"I made that happen, and I saved your life. If you want to kill me, now's your chance."

Arthur stared at me for so long I began to wonder if Merlin had slowed time again but finally he stirred himself, shaking his head.

"You know my father's law on magic. In Camelot you would be executed without a moment's thought."

"We're not in Camelot," Agar grunted. He stepped forward, closer to me. I could not help but notice that he had his sword held ready and I was touched by his readiness to defend me. "Will saved your life. Is this how Camelot repays the life debt?"

Arthur looked at Agar, and then again at me. "No," he said slowly. "It is not."

He drew himself up to his full height, the brief uncertainty forgotten. He was every inch the prince now, everything Eliffer was not.

"You are free to go. But not to Camelot. I can give you your life, here, now - and my father shall never know of this."

I held his gaze. "Thank you, my lord. I-I shall not go to Camelot. You have my word.

Merlin made a sound that was half protest, half despair.

"It's all right," I told him. At Arthur's nod I took Merlin's arm, leading him a little way from the others, far enough away that they could not hear what I had to say to him.

“Will…” he began hesitantly when we had put some distance between ourselves and the others, and then he stopped, apparently lost for words.

"Merlin, it has to be this way. You go with Arthur; this was always your journey."

He was close to tears. "I'll come back with you. We can go back to Ealdor."

I shook my head. "No. Merlin ... you have a gift, something I don't understand and never will. One day you're going to be a great sorcerer, just as one day Arthur is going to be a great king. You _have_ to go."

He threw his arms around me, holding me tight. "I don't want you to go," he mumbled into my shoulder.

"I'm not going to Camelot just so that Uther Pendragon can cut my head off." I allowed myself to hug him back, this one last time, breathing in the scent of him. "Now go, before Arthur changes his mind."

“Where will you go? Back to Ealdor?”

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “Perhaps.” I did not add that it mattered to me where Agar went but I think Merlin knew it without me having to say the words.

He hugged me tighter, that wiry strength nearly crushing me. “I won’t forget this,” he breathed. “I won’t forget _you_.”

I held him close, allowing the embrace, but even as he pressed soft kisses to my face I think he was beginning to understand the truth that I had already accepted: he was not mine to hold, and never had been. “Nor I you. Not ever.”

Merlin pressed his face against my hair to hide his tears. “Tell Mum…” Words failed him then; I rubbed his back soothingly, trying to communicate without words that I understood all that he was trying to say.

“I will. Maybe one day you can visit her.” I risked a gentle poke to his ribs. “Bring his royal pratness with you.”

Merlin gave a small, hiccupping laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure Arthur would just love sleeping on my mum’s floor.”

 _He will_ , I thought with aching clarity. _For you_.

“Come on then.” I gently disengaged myself from his embrace. “Mustn’t keep the prince waiting.”

“Let him wait,” Merlin grumbled but he held still while I straightened his neckerchief and returned my own clothes to some semblance of normality.

“There, you look nearly presentable,” I told him. I reached into my jacket and took out Lorin’s pendant. “Here.”

“What is it?” He took it from me and held it up, peering at the design.

“Lorin gave it to me. He said it brings protection.”

“Then I can’t take it from you,” he said at once. “You need it.”

“You’re a sorcerer and you’re going to the castle of a king who hates sorcery. I think you need the protection more than I do.” I risked a quick glance at Arthur but the prince was talking to Agar and apparently oblivious to us. “Take it.”

Merlin took it, still uncertain, and ran a finger over the inscription. “The god of heroes.” He smiled a tremulous smile. “The champion.”

I nodded a head towards the prince. “Maybe you should give it to your champion then, one day.”

He blushed furiously but he did not refute it. For some reason that did not hurt as much as it once might have done.

“Thank you,” he said softly when he regained some composure. “For everything.” And with that he tucked the pendant away in his jacket and we made our way back to where the prince and Agar waited for us.

* * *

“You must have loved him very much,” my daughter says softly as I pause, overwhelmed for the moment by memory.

The room is lit only by the flickering fire and a single candle and my old eyes cannot see her face clearly. “I was young,” I say, making light of it. Sensible as she is, she has more faith in their god than I do and I know very well what the priest says of men who lie with men as they do women.

“Did you love my mother as much?”

I snort at that. “How can you compare it? Merlin was… I was young. Foolish.” _And he was never truly mine_ , my mind adds.

“But you loved him,” she persists. “And you always did.”

“Perhaps it was a spell,” I say tiredly. How I miss my Alys at times like these! She had the gift of words where I do not. Too late I realise that I have spoken out loud, for her next question is still more direct.

“What did she think of him? Did she know what you felt for him?”

“She said…” Memory brings a smile to my face, a warmth to my heart despite all the passing of years. “She said that love was love, and that it could never be a sin to love.”

She nods and says nothing for a long while and then my daughter, my dear Juliet, comes to me and throws her arms around me and hugs me as if I am the child and she the parent.

“I think,” she says, and I hear the tears in her voice, “that my mother was a wise woman.”

* * *

By the time we returned to the others Agar had coaxed the horse – which seemed to have taken shelter from the tempest under an overhang – out of hiding and he and Arthur seemed to have reached some kind of silent accord. I did not care to ask; as long as they were not actively trying to kill each other I was content.

As Merlin and I drew closer Agar gave me a smile that was somewhat forced but welcome nonetheless. "Come on, Will," he said kindly. "It is time that we were gone, before the other knights return."

"Which I hope they will soon," Arthur muttered. "I'm soaked to the skin as it is."

Agar smiled to himself and held the horse for me while I inelegantly swung myself into the saddle, and then he bowed his head to Arthur.

“My lord,” he said quietly.

Arthur’s gaze flickered to me for the briefest moment before returning to Agar. “Where will you go?”

“Away from Camelot, my lord,” Agar replied simply. “We go east.”

Arthur nodded. “Be sure that you do,” he counselled. “My father hates magic. There would be no mercy for you if you were caught. You must not go to Camelot.”

Merlin flinched a little at that; luckily for him he was standing behind Arthur, out of the prince’s line of sight. I knew Agar had seen it – he knew very well that Merlin was the sorcerer and not I – but he seemed content to keep our secret.

“Here.” Arthur reached into his coat and drew out a small bag of coins. He held it out to Agar. “Take it.”

Agar looked from the offering to Arthur and back again. “My lord, I-”

“Take it,” Arthur cut him off brusquely.

Agar took the bag, and weighed it in his hand. “Thank you, my lord,” he said. He bowed his head again, handed the bag up to me, and then swung himself into the saddle in front of me. Just in time; at that moment I heard a voice, far away still, calling the prince’s name.

“At least some of my men are still alive then,” Arthur remarked dryly. He waved a hand at us. “Go. Before they find us.”

I looked at Merlin one last time, imprinting the sight of him in my memory. He was as beautiful to me then as he ever had been but the pain of loss was not as sharp as I might have expected. And when I watched Arthur Pendragon go to Merlin and say a few quiet words to him, words which made Merlin smile, and nod and follow after him, even though he was still pale and pinched with shock, it was as if I had been presented with the answer to a riddle that perhaps neither of them knew had ever been posed.


	12. Epilogue

That, my dear reader, is my story and yet it is not the end of the tale – of course it is not. Sometimes, when I am feeling tired (which is more often than not these days), I tell those who question me that my story ends at this point, that I returned alone to Ealdor, took a wife, tended my crops and grew old quietly without once ever thinking about Camelot again, and if they persist in their questions I feign confusion followed by sleep until they leave me in peace. But since there are none left alive now to bear witness – and Camelot itself is long reduced to nothing but crumbling ruins and lingering memories – it falls to me, William Agar, to set it down as closely as I remember so that others may know the truth.

You will have guessed for yourself, no doubt, that I did not return to Ealdor and live out the life I might have had if I had never met Merlin. There are times when I can hardly believe myself that I once travelled the length and breadth of our lands, that I saw Arthur crowned king of Albion, that I saw Arthur’s great victory over the invading hordes at Aquae Arnemetiae that delivered a golden age of peace and prosperity to the whole of Albion.

I will tell what I can, but I am tired now, so very tired, and my bed calls to me with promises of sleep and a few hours of blessed relief from all the aches and pains of my advancing years. Tomorrow, then, I will pick up my quill again for there is more to be told of this tale.

Some of it is already legend, and legend written down by better wordsmiths than I.

Some of it you will not find in any bard’s heroic tales of Camelot, for Arthur and Merlin were always more discreet in public than anyone who knew them in their youth might have given them credit for and one had to know them very well indeed to see the secret smiles or the occasional momentary clasp of hands that spoke more clearly of their love than a thousand words ever could.

And some of it is my own story – a more humble tale it is true but one I would wish to tell nonetheless.

For now I will end with this. It is said that the river of history is fast-flowing, and that one cannot swim upstream. The age of magic has passed, Arthur and his knights have ridden into legend and there are no more dragons now. For a brief while a bright and wondrous light shone out over Albion but those glorious days are long gone and there can be no going back to what was.

Yet I do not feel regret, for I know that there are two who will never be swept away by the torrent, two for whom time has no power and no dominion. Two sides of the same coin, two halves of the same soul, indivisible and enduring. The prince who became a king, and the boy who became a legend.

Amongst those who still remember the old days it is whispered that Arthur is not gone for ever; that he will return when Albion needs him most. And when he does, I do not doubt for a moment that Merlin will be at his side.


End file.
